From Drama to Death
by The Sarcasm Master
Summary: In the twenty-third Hunger Games, the twenty-four contestants from Total Drama are reaped from their districts, transported to the Capitol, and forced to fight to the death in an Arena overseen by Head Gamemaker Chris McLean. Who will be the sole victor out of twenty-four beloved characters? And is there something else going on behind the scenes in the Capitol?
1. The Reaping: Part One (Districts 1-6)

**Real original, I know. But the idea of the Total Drama contestants participating in the Hunger Games is an interesting concept, one I'm going to try to explore. For this story the main goal for me is to objectively determine how events will play out, no bias towards or against any particular character. Just because I like a character won't mean that they'll win, or even go far. And just because I hate a character doesn't mean they won't win. Personal preference and bias will undoubtedly leak in, but I will try my best to keep it even. This takes place during the twenty-third Hunger Games. Enjoy, review, whatever.**

* * *

**Head Gamemaker**

**Chris MacLean**

The Capitol truly is a beautiful place. Elegant architecture, fine dining, speedy transportation, it has it all. A far cry from the districts themselves, for the most part. Maybe not the Career districts. But for the most part the districts know their place. The Games ensure it. As for the people of the Capitol...just a bunch of self-centered, shallow, ridiculous fruitcakes. But I love them. They are so easily controlled, so one-dimensional that they've been desensitized to the horrors in the Games.

Horrors that I will help the audience enjoy for all it's worth. In all honesty, I care nothing for either the Capitol's citizens or the tributes. This is Reality TV. And it is more real than the sheep residing in the Capitol know. To them, these people they see fighting, killing, hurting on their TV screens are characters, not people. I don't get the whole hinky dinky message about keeping the Districts in line. I see the quote "tributes" as pigs to be slaughtered, to provide nourishment for the Capitol's entertainment, and to remind the Districts that no one is safe. And how true that is...

I hear a knock on the door. "Come in," I exclaim irritably, and Hatchet, one of my fellow Gamemakers enters the room. "What the hell is it? I've got enough on my plate as is."

The burly black man shrugs. "The President wants to see you. Don't know what about, but ya can't exactly ignore it."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, fine. I'm coming." I stand and walk through the halls of the building, and I see the President sitting down in a velvet chair, lounging placidly.

"MacLean," he acknowledges my presence. I sit down across from him.

"To what do I owe the honor?" I ask, taking great care to put a grin on my face. "Come all this way just to see me?"

He rolls his eyes. "Head Gamemaker MacLean, this is your first year as Head Gamemaker. I understand that your first Games must be a daunting task."

I nod. "It'll be worth it."

"Oh, I quite agree!" he adds quickly, "I'm just saying that your predecessor and I...disagreed slightly. Notice that he is no longer here and you have the job."

I snort. "What, did you kill him?" I inquire bluntly. He gives me a strange, indiscernible look.

"He went missing," he says simply, and I smile inwardly at the blatant lies. "That is the official story."

"What's the unofficial story?" I ask, kicking my legs back.

"Keep asking about that and you might end up missing too. It's not a hard job, MacLean. Just stay within the boundaries and you'll come out of this in one piece."

I shrug. "Okay. I can deal with that. Is that all? Just a warning?"

He gives me the same pointed look. "There are some strange dealings going on in the Capitol. I would advise you not to get involved. Thank you for this brief moment of your time, I understand you have a busy schedule." He stands and tugs at his coat before spinning on his heels and exiting the room. I smile. I have no intent on going outside the boundaries. I have Games to play, after all.

Soon these kiddos will be mine.

Then the fun will begin.

* * *

**District 1 Reaping**

**Justin POV**

I know I'm supposed to be scared right now. I mean, I'm not exactly experienced in combat, I've rarely trained as a Career. I much prefer keeping this perfect face intact. As it is, I'm not scared. Even if I do get picked, most likely one of those poor fellows who've fallen for me will volunteer for me, in order to spare me. Or maybe they just would want to go instead. Eh, doesn't matter. The point is that I have no fear about being chosen. Plus, even if I did, the Capitol would adore me. Me being absolutely gorgeous and all.

Everyone stands stock still as the escort, whose name I don't remember or care about, finishes her speech...thing. "Ladies first," she drips, voice sweet as honey, and reaches her hand out and digs it into the ball, and draws out a slip of paper. She holds it up, and unfolds it ceremoniously.

"Lindsay Top!"

Oh joy. Lindsay, popular, beautiful, but not very bright. She stumbles up onto stage, looking confused and disoriented. Most likely the cold truth hasn't set in on her yet. The escort's voice rings out, asking if there are any volunteers. I look around, expecting to see someone, anyone, take her place, but in the end, no one does. While Lindsay just stands there looking like a fish out of water, realization dawning, that no one was going to help her. I glance at the crowd she usually hangs out with. They all look shocked, whispering to one another, but are scared and weak. They won't help her. It's not in their nature. Man, am I glad I have better friends than that...

"All right, next up, for the boys!" the escort announces, and dips her hand in the reaping ball. She stirs it around, and I look down at my hand to see that it's shaking ever-so-slightly. Not very appealing to the ladies. Can't have them think I'm nervous...I close my eyes. She's not going to pick me, she's not going to pick me, she's not going to pick me...

She pulls her hand out of the ball, and holds the slip of the paper up.

She's not going to pick me, she's not going to pick me...

She unfolds the slip, and clears her throat.

She's not going to pick me, she's not going to pick me...

"Justin Bailey!"

My shaking hands cease, and my mouth drops open slightly. My legs feel like they're moving on their own as I walk through the crowd, awestruck. I lumber onto the stage, without saying a word. There's one chance I have left, only one chance...a volunteer. Those dudes in Career training! They'd volunteer for me! They _want _to be in the Games! They won't let this happen! I calm myself and flash my trademark grin, hoping it doesn't look too feeble and that it will actually work...of course it'll work! I'm Justin!

"Are there any volunteers?" she asks, and I grin expectantly at the people of District 1. I see people I know shifting around uncomfortably, and the grin plastered on my face flickers ever-so-slightly, no, no, I can't lose confidence. I need them to help me! But nothing happens...no one volunteers for me.

"All right, in that case..." the escort says, looking a bit offset from the lack of volunteers, "Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of District 1!"

Lindsay looks around uncomfortably, and a ghost of my grin lingers on my face. We'll definitely be expected to join the Careers, being from District 1 and all...but what if we're not valuable enough? What if we're expendable? My face turns to worry, no, can't let my worried face show, no...I see guilty faces in the audience, but twice as many indifferent ones. Lindsay and I head backstage, and I turn to her.

"How...are you feeling?" I ask uncertainly. We don't usually talk.

"Umm..." she says in that high, sweet voice of hers, "I'm...just..I don't know, okay?" She looks on the verge of tears. "I've never thought that I'd be here!" she whimpers, and starts crying. I walk away.

I don't know what I'm doing.

Oh God, I might actually die!

* * *

**District 2**

**Alejandro POV**

"Hey, Al, how are you doing? Worrying about the reaping again? Yeah, thought so."

My brother José smirks at me, crossing his arms in that arrogant and mean-spirited manner of his. I pay no attention to him. Ever since he won the Games, he hasn't been able to let me forget it. I clean the dishes calmly, not looking at him.

"Well, if you are chosen, I guess that'd be 'bye bye,' Al, am I right? I mean, it's not like you could even win."

I finish cleaning the dishwasher and turn to head up to my room, but José blocks my path. "Are you paying attention to me, Al?" he hisses gleefully. "Are you ignoring your beloved older brother?"

"Yes," I reply simply, and push past him. José always gets his way. With our parents, it's always _José _this and _José _that, and _"Why can't you be like your older brother José? He won the Games, after all. Can't you do that? _When he's not around my parents appreciate my achievements, like being able to charm the pants off most everyone in the District, or my physical prowess, or my fantastically good looks. But when he's around? I'm always overshadowed, always second best...maybe the Games could change that._  
_

"Hey, Al!" he calls as I'm climbing up the stairs. "How's it going with your crush on that unattractive witch? Now what was her name again...Heather, was it?" I grit my teeth and clench my fists, and I can feel his gaze boring into my soul. I continue climbing, and reach the top.

"A real bitch if you ask me. No clue what you see in her." That tears it. I growl and run back down the stairs and tackle my brother. We roll over so that he's on top of my chest, his arms pinning mine down. I struggle to break free, but he's simply too strong.

"Looks like I win again, Al," he smirks, and stands, dusting his hands off. I get up, ready to tackle him, but I restrain myself. The hours blur by. I leave the Victor's Village to place my name in the reaping and provide a blood sample, etc. The atmosphere is tense, but not as tense as it would be in, say, District 12, due to the fact that many of these potential tributes actually want to compete, to fight for quote "honor." There is no honor in the Games. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool.

Everyone is quieted as the escort takes the stage, spouting some bullshit about Panem. I've never been particularly fond of the Capitol, or Panem for that matter, but they've provided enough for me and my family. Eventually, finally, the escort stops talking and steps over to the reaping ball.

"Ladies first," he says professionally, and dips his hand into the bowl. Within a couple of seconds, he's drawn his hand out, a slip of paper clutched firmly in his hands.

"Heather Chandler."

Something sinks inside of me, my muscles relax, and my mouth opens slightly. I turn to see Heather, looking fantastic with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, but looking shocked, and bluntly pushes past me, scowling at me. The last time we spoke...hadn't turned out well. José knows this, and I look around to see him smirking at me, and at my shocked misery. No...Heather stands up on the stage, and the escort asks if there are any volunteers. Heather looks cool as ever, indifferent in the face of death. She's been prepared for this, has been training for this. She might have even volunteered if she hadn't been picked. She doesn't look scared.

There are no volunteers. I can't say I'm surprised. Heather is not exactly well-liked by her colleagues. She never cared. My thoughts are rudely interrupted by the escort, who dips his hand into the second ball and pulls out a slip of paper. He opens it.

"Scott Smith."

Scott, a young, ginger kid who is in my row looks up in startled surprise at his name being called. His limbs tremble as he walks towards the stage, and the queasy feeling in my stomach continues. I can see my brother, who is observing the spectacle on the stage. I want to prove him wrong...I want to win the Games, but Heather is competing too...my heart races in my chest as I struggle between thoughts and desires. This could be it. I could prove José wrong. I'm eighteen now. This is my last games, and ever since I was twelve I've always dreamed of winning, to see my brother's shocked face when I did so. This is my last chance to play.

"Are there any volunteers?" the escort's voice rings out, and Scott glances around desperately, although knowing him he's trying to find a way to squirm out of playing, and I sigh. I step forward.

"I volunteer!" I shout, and I stride up to the stage. Scott breathes a visible sigh of relief as I walk onto the stage.

"Name?" the escort asks clinically.

"Alejandro Buerromuerto," I respond coolly.

"Well then," the escort says, and I make eye contact with Heather, who looks at me in confusion for what I did. I'm not even fully sure why I did it. I suppose it doesn't matter. I'm here.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of District 2!"

* * *

**District 3**

**Izzy POV**

So the time has come again, then, for the reaping. I'd like to think that if I hypothetically got picked for the Games that I wouldn't honestly care too much. In fact, at one point I imagined what it would be like to be in the Games, only to realize that despite my whole "loving danger" shtick, that it would be a truly awful and terrible experience, but hey! Who really cares about that? Life here could definitely be better, Peacekeepers control everything, but it could be worse, right? That's what I sometimes tell myself.

It's generally around the reaping, where absence is a death sentence that I have my doubts. We all have to look our finest for a blood fest. It's like, the most twisted reality TV experience ever. And I absolutely hate it when someone I know gets picked, which only happened twice, when I was 12 and 14. It sucked. It seriously sucked, they were my buddies! I also once imagined that I snuck into the Capitol and hung the President. That was kinda weird. But perfectly understandable, if you ask me.

The escort is dressed in really garish, extravagant colors and with a pristine and obviously false smile on her face as she addresses us. Don't remember her name that well, but who cares? Blah blah blah Capitol, blah blah blah Hunger Games, blah blah blah peace and tranquility, blah blah blah. Total bullshit. I curl my hands into fists at it all, but there's nothing to do, nothing I can really do. Now, at least. Oh well...time for the moment of truth. The escort dramatically draws out a slip of paper for the ladies, and my knuckles turn white from the stress. Not gonna be it, not gonna be it...

"Izzy Connelly."

Dammit. I'm it. Guess I jinxed myself, right? Ha ha, ha...I don't feel like laughing. The heavy weight sets in, the heavy truth that I won't be coming back. But hey! Maybe I can make sure those two-faced, high-tailing, garish, extravagant, desensitized, wasteful, shallow peeps in the Capitol know somethin' is up. And if I die? Well...I make eye contact with my mother, who stands there in total shock and sadness, eyes tearing up. I stand on the stage, shuddering and shaking, but my expression must remain neutral, mustn't break, mustn't break. No one volunteers.

The escort draws out the second tribute's name, and the tension continues to rise, as she slowly and melodramatically unfolds the slip of paper. She takes an unnecessarily long pause and a throat clearing, and she finally reads the name.

"Harold McGrady."

Aww...Harold's a good guy. He probably won't last very long in the game at all. I mean, he's really freaking skinny (then again, so am I) and he often talks about his skills and stuff, not really sure how or why that will help him. He initially appears shocked, but gets himself under control quickly, remaining stoic and accepting of the fact. Apparently. He walks up onto the stage and I note his skinny, awkward frame, the glasses, the long ginger hair, and to myself think that he won't last ten minutes in the Arena. I might last a bit longer. Not sure.

We head backstage, and he won't look at me. Don't break, don't break, don't break...I turn and walk away from him. Don't break, don't break, don't break...tears well up in my eyes and flow down my cheeks.

Dammit. I broke.

* * *

**District 4**

**Eva POV**

I've decided. I'm going to volunteer. My whole life I've been prepping for the Games. I've always been the fastest, the strongest, the fiercest. I wasn't ready to enter the Games during my previous years. Now, I am. I'm ready to take the risk of dying for fame and fortune. My family is gone. All gone now. There's nothing to lose, everything to gain. I'm ready to fight. And I'm ready to go down fighting. I feel no sympathy for the tributes I've watched die each year, just apathy, indifference. I've studied. I know what I'm doing.

The escort spouts the same dumb stuff he does every year. His name is Josh, I believe, don't remember much about him except that he's slave to the Capitol's bizarre fashions. Stupid. Flamboyant. Prissy. I hate all of it equally. No exceptions. Yet they're the reason we have stability. Hey, wiping a District off the map to prove your point works, but it's a little strange hearing all that bullshit about how there's peace and tranquility now. District 4 isn't bad. It's a Career district, of course. But it's not the best either, and I intend to volunteer. I've already let my family know of my choice. They've accepted it.

He finally finishes his speech on how much he loves the Capitol and how we should too and how we should be grateful for the Hunger Games or something equally stupid. "Ladies first," he announces, and dips his hand into the bowl. I inhale deeply, then exhale. I catch my mother's eye, and she nods imperceptibly to anyone but me. Josh pulls his hand out of the bowl, and unfolds the slip of paper in an unnecessarily long and melodramatic fashion.

"Dakota Milton."

The brat's eyes only have to widen for a moment, and I immediately step forward.

"I volunteer!" I bellow, and all attention turns to me. I stalk up towards the stage and turn firmly to stare out at everyone else, face a frown of apathy and indifference.

"You were supposed to wait until we asked for volunteers," Josh says indignantly, "but okay then, Dakota, lucky you, you're safe! Say your name please, so we all can here it."

"Eva Conall," I declare evenly. I catch a glimpse of Dakota, who wouldn't have lasted long in the Arena even with the Careers on their side, spoiled brat as she is. Josh looks me over, and nods to himself.

"I see why you're here," he mutters, and spins on his heel to the other bowl. "Okay, moving on! Gentlemen, prepare yourselves, as one of you is going to have a chance to become a star!"

Or most likely die. Either way. Josh elegantly draws a slip of paper out of the men's bowl. He clears his throat before speaking, most likely to heighten the drama. "Duncan Calliver."

Duncan's eyes become saucers in his skull, and his abnormally short legs seem to walk themselves up onto the stage wordlessly. I know Duncan. The biggest troublemaker this District has, and yet always manages to worm his way out of serious punishment. Generally he acts smug and superior, but it seems as though that has all been shattered now. His last hope is that someone will volunteer for him. Josh asks the unresponsive crowd if anyone would like to take his place. No one does, and Josh's practiced smile fades ever-so-slightly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of District 4!"

Duncan walks away without a word, and I smile to myself. I've always been the fastest, the strongest, the most determined. I've got this game in the bag. And if not? I'll have made an impact. That is my goal here.

To leave behind something that shows I was here.

* * *

**District 5**

**Noah POV**

Objectively, when looking at the odds and statistics of my district, I should be in the clear. One teenager out of hundreds, and without the need to apply for tessarae due to having eight older siblings and all. You know, all the ones who managed to make it through six to seven years of applying for the Games without a single one of them being drawn, plus cumulative votes thanks to their generosity towards their siblings, i.e. me. This is my fourth year applying, and I've never applied for tessarae, meaning the odds are certainly in my favor today.

Of course, a part of me wonders what would happen if that garishly clothed abomination of fashion known as our district's escort did pull my name out. Would my family weep? I must say, I am rather notorious in District 5 for my lack of participation and aversion to work. Obviously, that would not be the best strategy to use during the Games. Wouldn't want to rot just because I'm too quote "lazy" to even get myself some water. I'm smarter than that. I know when things work and when they don't. And if, and I mean if as in the very, very minuscule chance that I'm selected, I don't plan to die.

The lady draws out some of my blood and I blink at her silently, eyebrow raised per the norm and a bored, indifferent expression on my face. The ceremony begins, and I can say with certainty that that nightmare for the eyes (and ears, her voice is only slightly less ridiculous and terrifying) up on the stage right now has not changed a bit. She looks like a cat dragged her into a sewer, applied copious amounts of makeup (poorly, I might add) to her, and dressed her up in as frilly a dress as the mind can imagine without exploding into a thousand tiny little pieces. Whatever the hell that looks like.

"All right, now that we've reflected and reminisced on our past mistakes and our present glory," the abomination speaks, voice lilted and lisping. I make a retching sound in the back of my throat, knowing that it'll cause a little stir. Fortunately, they can't figure out where it came from, and I allow a small smile to form across my face. The garish spectacle of horrifying stupidity clears her throat, annoyed, and continues. "As I was saying, now that we've reflected on our past mistakes, it's time to select our tributes! As usual, ladies first!"

God, how I tire of hearing that phrase, year after year after year after year after year after year. Pft. Ladies first. Why, exactly? The she-who-shall-not-be-named digs her pointy fingernails and the fingers attached to them into the bowl, and I tap my foot impatiently. Just get the show on the road already, no need for unnecessary theatrics! Finally, she opens the slip of paper.

"Courtney Brenton."

I perk up slightly in recognition. Courtney Brenton, intelligent, perfectionist, wants to be successful in life. Moderately athletic, has quite the temper on her when things don't go her way. We'd pass in the halls but ultimately did not interact all that often, and I am perfectly fine with that. She walks up quietly, in shock, and stands on the stage, looking absolutely desperate for someone to volunteer for her. No one does, and she bites her lower lip, trembling.

"Okay, time for our second tribute to be chosen!~" the unspeakable horror nearly sings, and I'm starting to wonder if she's enjoying this in any way, shape, or form. She repeats the same ritual, and pulls out the name. I don't let any of my worry show, and she pulls out the name, once again drawing out the conclusion. I cross my fingers.

"Noah Hayden."

My stomach drops, as if an entire swarm of butterflies just flew downwards in it. My usual bored, smug composure breaks completely. No...this can't be happening. Me? Me? I was one name! One name in HUNDREDS! How could this have happened? A tear slides down my cheek, and I clench my fists as I walk up to the stage.

It happened.

It's hard to believe, but it happened.

I guess jinxing yourself really does work.

* * *

**District 6**

**Katie POV**

Okay, I seriously hate this time of year. The Games are such a bad idea. I've lost friends there! It also, like, makes me really on edge, I can't do my work 'cause I'm too busy imagining and being horrified at the thought. I know that there's like only a tiny chance I'd get in but it just makes me nervous! It's also really inhumane, and I don't see how anyone in the Capitol could ever enjoy a bunch of teenagers killing each other. It's sick. It makes me throw up every time I've seen someone I knew, talked to, was friends with, chatted about boys with, is skewered on live TV.

The same video they play every year is on the screen. It's all lies, really. Totally false and fabricated. Peace? Uh, no. Maybe in the Career districts things are different, but here, in District 6? No way. It could be worse, but the Peacekeepers are still really strict and mean. A lot of us are starving. Luckily, I was born into a decent family, and I'm like living a sort of normal life now? The escort really creeps me out. Weirdo Capitol fashion and all. It's like they've never heard of "less is more." They probably think "more is more," when really it's sometimes not. Or for them, most of the time not.

The video ends, and the woman on the stage smiles, obviously fake. I mean, no one would be that happy doing her job, unless she's just mean. "Ladies first!" she chirps, and I sigh slightly. Always the same, never changing. Seriously, how does she do this job? I tremble, heart racing, and she pulls out one of the slips.

"Katie Edwards!"

My jaw drops, mouth open in an "O" of surprise. No! No! I start sobbing, and I can hear my parents yelling, sobbing, and I tremble violently as I walk up onto the stage. This is...awful! "Mom! Dad!" I scream, and I'm "escorted" onto the stage. Murmurs spread throughout the crowd, and the escort tries to take control of the situation.

"Settle down, settle down! It's all right now. Okay, okay, moving on! Our lucky gentleman is..." I shoot what I hope is a death glare at the peacock, who does not look at me. Too busy, like, choosing who else is gonna die. I feel like I'm gonna barf. That wouldn't be good...

"Owen Grant."

Aw, not Owen...he's too nice of a guy. I don't think he's had a negative thought about anyone, like, ever. He's also really funny! He literally lets out a scream when his name is called, and whimpers as he walks forward onto the stage. I can just, like, see the escort's mind thinking that Owen's not gonna make it. Owen starts crying, and it's contagious, I start crying too, and she's left with two crying contestants. Finally, she returns order.

"All right, that's enough! Our tributes are Katie Edwards and Owen Grant! May the odds be ever in your favor, whatever, just stop!"

It quiets, and the only thing I can hear is the sound of Owen's crying.

* * *

**Well, hope that turned out okay...I thought it was pretty good. *nods* For the record, this takes place in Hunger Games canon, presumably. Also, there will be no romance unless it is of importance to the plot.**

**Tribute List So Far:**

**District 1:**

Justin

Lindsay

**District 2:**

Alejandro

Heather

**District 3:**

Harold

Izzy

**District 4:**

Duncan

Eva

**District 5:**

Noah

Courtney

**District 6**

Owen

Katie

**Stay tuned for future updates! **


	2. The Reaping: Part Two (Districts 7-12)

**Hello again, thank you, thank you, too kind, too kind. Apologies for lack of updates for a month now, but hey, life happens. Thanks for those whom have reviewed, and, I'm _not _going to hold my story ransom for more reviews! I find that behavior in fanfiction to be quite...rude. *Hannibal Lecter-esque grin forms on face***

**Also, I've posted a new Total Drama one-shot entitled Beyond the Fourth Wall. Check it out. It's glorious.**

**District 7**

**Bridgette POV**

Disgusting. Absolutely _vile, _pointlessly cruel. It's all just murder disguised as glory and ceremony. It's a paper-thin disguise for anyone who doesn't live in the Capitol. No, less than paper-thin. There is no disguise, and it makes me sick to my stomach to think about the people who enjoy watching us slaughter each other, get some kind of twisted enjoyment out of it. But...I don't blame them. Not entirely. No, the conditioning is all they know. The real evils are the people in charge, and it frustrates me beyond belief that I can't do anything about it.

"Bridgette, are you okay?"

Dawn sits down next to me as my thoughts buzz around in my head. Dawn agrees with me. To the letter. But she can't do anything about it either. "No. Just...that time of the year again..." I sigh, propping my chin up with my hand.

She nods sympathetically. "I despise it as well. But I don't know what any of us are supposed to do about it...District 13 was wiped out. An entire District."

"We shouldn't be thinking negative," I shift around on the bench uncomfortably. "We could run. Form our own resistance. But they'd...the people would just be too scared of the Capitol to help us."

"That was the point of the Games. But the key to a rebellion is being able to show that they can win. They need an example to follow," Dawn speaks with her pointer finger up in the air, legs crossed in a meditative position.

"What kind of example?" I sigh, shifting again. "How would we...be able to do that?"

Dawn shrugs. "I don't know everything," she says, quirking a half smile, "but I think that Panem's system is built on fear and control. If a person, or multiple people were to remain unafraid in the face of death and manage to defy the Capitol's control...then there might be a chance. Give it time. It might take days, months, years, or even decades, but Panem will not last forever. Governments rise and fall. This is no different."

I nod wearily, pondering her words. District 7, lumber. We cut down trees to help Panem. As an environmentalist, I...don't really approve of it. But it's necessary...I guess. "Thanks, Dawn. I really appreciate you trying to get me up...it's just...the Reaping..._ugh."_

Dawn nods. Her white-blond hair is put up in a ponytail, and a lavender dress clings to her petite body. My best friend, the only person who actually understands me and isn't afraid to speak her mind, generally due to her uncanny knack of reading people. She knows how to keep her head down though, and is quite intelligent. "Speaking of which, it should be coming up soon. We should probably just get it over with. I mourn every loss our District suffers..." A dark look passes across her face. "And I hope that we can have justice."

I nod, and stand. I hate makeup. I hate having to look pretty for the Reaping, but it's an unfortunate necessity. My blond hair is pulled up into a bun and my aqua dress was my personal request. Unfortunately, I couldn't get out of my mother applying eyeliner and eye shadow, but she did respect my wish to keep it minimal. The entire district files into place, and the Capitol woman stands up on the stage, performing her annual speech. I dissect most of its flowery lies to what it really is: you are ours.

"Per usual, ladies first!" I compose myself, taking a deep breath, opening and closing my fists. She runs her fingernails around the rim, keeping up the suspense, before finally drawing the slip of paper out.

"Dawn Raleigh."

My stomach seems to jump into my throat, keeping me from screaming. My legs nearly turn to jelly, and I nearly fall over. Dawn...Dawn...tiny, a pacifist, not very athletic...there would be _no way for her to win._ None, and our dreams, our visions would go unrealized. I know what I need to do. I need to be an example.

"I volunteer!" I yell out, stepping violently forward, and I meet Dawn's widened gaze, and I shake my head towards her. I turn to her. "Don't give up on me," I murmur to her before stepping onto the stage as the escort grumbles something about destroying protocol.

"Name?"

"Bridgette Martin."

"Well...Bridgette Martin...you are now our female tribute for District 7! Isn't that wonderful? Now that that breach in protocol has been taken care of, let us choose her male counterpart."

The same process repeated. I stand there in numb containment.

"Tyler Jefferson."

Tyler seems to freeze, and his feet walk him up to the stage, but he manages to trip over the stairs, landing with a painful thud. As he stands next to me my eyes glaze over, drowning out everything around me, deafened ears.

I will be selfless.

I will be an example.

* * *

**District 8**

**Geoff POV**

Man...I really don't like this. Sending twenty-four teenagers to kill each other? Not cool. I take a gulp. Always have had to party this time of the year to keep my mind off everything that's gonna happen...it just...sucks, man. I've lost a lot of cool friends. James, Tea, Joseph, Olivia, Carly, and Damien, all of them, gone! Man, I wish that people in our District would actually have a chance of winning.

I sigh, lounging in the chair, taking a drink. Whatev. At least I don't have any siblings who could get Reaped...man, what if I got reaped? I had a nightmare about that once...it was like my birthday and my annual winter party's feeling, like, completely reversed. Okay, that didn't make a whole lot of sense. But, well, if I jinx myself by not worrying about it and saying it's gonna be fine, does that mean that telling myself I'm gonna make it in will make sure I stay out?

I'm going into the Arena.

I'm going into the Arena.

I'm going into the Arena.

...nope, not feeling any better right now. Man, this blows. Damn Capitol. Why can't we just all be friends, no need for sacrifices and shit? There's a fine line between using the tributes as an example to push the districts into submission, and having it backfire into rebellion. I'd love rebellion. Just...only if someone else leads it. I'm not much of a leader.

Tick tock tick tock. The hours fly by, and my eyes droop shut...before I know it I'm being shaken out of bed, hurried along and dressed up...still feeling...blah...

I'm going into the Arena.

I'm going into the Arena.

I'm going into the Arena.

...still not feeling any better. Man, reverse psychology doesn't work. Suit, tie, nice clothes, and the entire district gathers per usual in the square. Textile industry...I dunno, man. I'm still feeling confused.

I'm going into the Arena.

...okay, that's still not working. The escort begins his usual speech, blah blah blah blah blah Panem blah blah hope blah blah Tribute...I hazily sway in the slight, cool breeze. Deep breath, in and out, Geoff, in and out...everything's cool.

"And now to select our Tributes!" he chirps perkily.

Blah blah blah same tension, blah blah blah...draws his hand out. Ladies first. It always is. I kinda wish that men were first so I could get it out of the way...

"Sadie Richards."

Aw, no, not Sadie! She's cool, man! Poor girl. She's not gonna last long, I don't think. Kinda overweight, people like to call her fat but I think those people are just mean. She's crying, and walks up onto the stage...

He repeats the ceremony, beads of sweat dripping down my face.

I'm going into the Arena.

I'm going into the Arena.

He slowly slides his hand around, and I can hear the votes sloshing around, and he finally draws one out.

I'm going into the Arena.

I'm going into the Arena.

"Geoff Stone."

Oh...shit...no...no..nononononono...

I'm going into the Arena.

* * *

**District 9**

**Trent POV**

"Trent. Trent. Trent, honey, wake up."

"Huh?"

My mother snaps her fingers in front of my face, and I blink back into reality. I'd kind of spaced out a little bit while she was readying me for the Reaping.

"Thinking about that girl again?" she smiles wryly, and I nod without even realizing what I was doing.

"Yeah...wait."

She laughs, combing my hair. "How many girlfriends have you had, Trent? Seven?"

"Eight," I mumble to my shoes, sighing.

"And you've declared your love for each one of them, right?" That smile still lingers on her face, and I groan.

"Mom, can we please not talk about this right now? I have enough to deal with right now, what with the Reaping and all." I place a hand to my forehead.

"What's her name, son? The newest one, that is."

"Gwen."

"Does she like you back?"

I shrug dejectedly. "I honestly don't know." She smiles, comfortingly stroking my hair.

"Trent, you've had eight girlfriends in the space of four years. You really shouldn't worry so much."

I groan. "I know, Mom, it's just...I dunno. Forget what I'm saying. I don't know what I'm talking about."

She smirks. "That I can believe."

"Hey!" I interject, but I laugh, and she does as well.

"Just don't worry about it," she says, kissing my forehead as she finishes up. "Let's just get this Reaping over with, and then we can talk about your girl problems, okay?" I nod slightly. I really shouldn't worry about it so much...especially when there are a lot more important things to be worried about.

As the entire district files into line, I catch a glimpse of a scowling Gwen (not at me, fortunately), only to be gone in another instant. Murmurs and whispers fill the air, and I see people signing up, getting blood tests, the usual. I've applied for tessarae since I was twelve. God knows my poor mom needs it. And hey! If she needs help, her son should give it to her. Y'know.

The murmurs die down as the video starts to play. The same propaganda they show every year, that we know isn't true but can't do anything about. Our escort, a guy with straw-blond hair-Billy, I believe his name was, taps his foot impatiently. Billy, unlike some of the other escorts, is a little...understated. Kind of strange, but not in the Capitol kind of strange, he's strange because he seems almost normal. Except that he's not, and everyone knows it. How strange.

After the video ends, and they've finished spouting nonsense in our ear, Billy does his usual dramatic shtick, but puts his own spin on it by putting barely any emotion into it.

"As always. Ladies first," he monotones, and part of me wonders how long he's going to keep this job. He dips his hand into the Reaping bowl (whatever it's called) and after much dramatic tension pulls out the name. Blood trickles down my face and I realize that I've been biting my lip for the past couple of minutes.

"Gwen Lark."

No! This can't be happening! I...I...I didn't even ask her out yet! How can this...why...I'm certain all of my expressions and thoughts running through my head are showing on my face, and I attempt to control it, but my beating heart feels like it can be heard from anywhere in the crowd, and is giving me away.

Gwen looks terrified as she seems to walk herself up onto the stage, looking stunning in a black dress-NO, I can't be thinking this! She's dead! Move on, Trent, move on, find someone else! You always think that the girl you're crushing on is always gonna be _the one. _And it's happened _eight goddamn times _before now. This is no different. Get a hold of yourself!

Gwen is crying, and I can't do anything to help her...I'm stuck back here. Billy ignores the tears and moves on to the "gentlemen" bowl. He repeats the same process, stalling for as long as possible...I feel awful. Terrible. I feel like a loose end, waiting to be tied up. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He slowly pulls the slip of paper out, slowly, slowly, slowly, agonizingly slowly pulls it open...and clears his throat loudly.

"Trent Davis."

What? NO! No! This can't..why...fate, you are one goddamn son of a bitch. I let out an audible scream, and the Peacekeepers have to drag me up, as I sob pitifully...why...why Gwen...and why me?

* * *

**District 10**

**Beth POV**

I hum to myself as my mom applies the final touches on my dress. She says I look beautiful, but I don't really see it. I'm short, stubby, with brown hair in a short ponytail and a round face. And some acne. But my mom says she wasn't really a looker when she was a kid, and that looks don't really matter, especially in District 10, the livestock district. I guess I shouldn't be so concerned. What, with the Reaping and all. But whatever happens, I do NOT want to end up like those people in the Capitol. They are just...shallow.

Maybe I'm shallow too. As I move through the District, I've grown accustomed to having almost everyone blocking my view during the ceremony. I wish I was taller...but I'm getting ahead of myself. I shouldn't really be worrying about this when there's so much more to worry about...

The video plays, showing death, destruction, war, terrible, terrible images. Then it shows how Panem "cured" us of those problems. Maybe...if there hadn't been a rebellion, then there wouldn't have been a problem with the country. I guess we'll never know, then. Patriotic music plays, and finally our flamboyant, garish escort does the typical "ladies first" thing.

I'm one out of several hundred. There's only a small chance that I'd get in. I'm fine...I'm fine. What happens if I'm chosen? What then? Stop it, you're just tormenting yourself. If I die, I die. That'll be it...it sounds easy, but what if-okay, STOP. The escort dramatically pulls out the slip of paper, and unfolds it.

"Bethany Wilder."

I scream.

I sob.

I flail.

They don't let go.

I'm dead.

I'm on the stage now, shaking, and sobbing, and I can see the pity and terror in their eyes. They won't volunteer for me...no one ever volunteers. For anyone. I'm doomed, pretty much. Deep breath, in, out. Accept it. Hold my head high. Be a hero, not a shallow teenage girl.

"Ezekiel Miller."

I'm snapped out of my state of semi-consciousness by the calling of the male tribute's name. Ezekiel...or Zeke. He's...nice, I guess. Sheltered. But really skinny and not too bright, but he lets out a terrified scream as they drag him up onto the stage. I want to comfort him somehow, but it's not possible. I'm feeling too miserable on my own.

And to cap it all off...

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Tributes of District 10!"

* * *

**District 11:**

**Leshawna POV**

If I had the courage to do so and at least fifty people backing me up, I'd march right up to the Capitol, flip 'em off, and stand proudly as they execute me and try to keep it all covered up so that the districts don't know about it. Sadly, I'm not...the bravest or most courageous person in Panem. I value my life...and sometimes I wish I don't.

I do wish I could tell them off as my final stand, I really do. I have a habit of telling people off, after all. But I feel like there should be a better way to go about doing it that doesn't involve certain death...maybe I'm just a coward. Maybe I can't stand up for what is right. It doesn't help that District 11 is one of the most tightly controlled districts in all of Panem. Brutal...I'd be silenced even before I spoke.

I guess that I will have to be smart about it if I choose to do it...but right now I'm just trying to distract myself from the Reaping. I've lost some of my brothers and sisters in arms thanks to that monstrosity. Okay, relax, Leshawna. Everything's gonna be all right.

The video plays, showing all that horseshit they try to get us to believe every year. Nuh uh. It ain't working, on any of us, and I'm sure we're all thinking it but we're all too scared of the Peacekeepers, of death. If we could act as one, we could be unstoppable! But we're too busy worrying about ourselves to care. They've got us in a real hole, don't they...I sigh. Nuthin' we can do about it right now, might as well not worry.

"All right, ladies first!" her goddamn chipper voice says, drawing her hand into the bowl. How I hate her guts, standing up there all prim and proper and nightmare-like. How can a person wear that much makeup and not fall over dead? Man, these people are weird. But they also watch twenty-four teenagers kill each other on live television...and enjoy it. Man, Panem is messed up!

I cross my fingers, sweat dripping down the back of my neck...

"Leshawna Davidson."

"WHAT? WHAT THE HELL? NO!"

I somehow manage to storm up there and manage to _not _pound our escort's face in, but it's evident to everyone that I am _pissed. _But also absolutely terrified.

"Okay, ignoring that outburst," the escort says, still cheerful, it's time to choose our male tribute, and hopefully victor!"

My arms are shaking, my fists are clenched, oh, I am READY for this, 'cause this is the chance I've been waitin' for! I may DIE, I may fall, I may lose my family, but I will _make them suffer for it._

"Cameron Wilkins."

Oh, it's the stick kid. He screams in pure terror, and is actually slung over a Peacekeeper's shoulder as they drag him kicking and shrieking onto the stage.

"Wait! I volunteer!"

Everyone's head turns, and the Peacekeeper carrying Cameron stops in his tracks.

"Um, _why?_" the escort stresses, frantically trying to remember the procedure for volunteering.

"I...I...I don't want him to die!" he says frantically. "He's so...small. He'd barely last a day! So I take his place! ...I can do that, right?"

DJ. Man, brave, noble DJ. I wish I'd had the guts to volunteer like he just did. He bites his lower lip and walks proudly onto the stage, head held high.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of District 11!"

No one claps.

I'm glad.

* * *

**District 12:**

**Cody POV**

My mom has just told me that I'm not taking anything seriously and that I'm too caught up in my pursuits of girls to even care what the important things in our life are, and that I'm going to have to do some growing up to actually survive in this world.

She is absolutely right.

But...I just want to live as much of a normal life as I can in District 12, and I guess relationships with girls are kind of...symbolic of that normality I want. Ooh, plus, today I just found out that this girl is really into me! She's really tall, with darker skin, and has purple hair for some reason. Sierra, I think her name was? I'd found her in my house...sniffing my...shoelaces. Does that mean she's into me? It's kind of...weird.

Then again, there was that one time I snuck into this one girl's house and got chased out by her demonic cat...never mind.

I'm wearing a tuxedo with a purple shirt. I think I look pretty snazzy for the Reaping, but it's not exactly the best time to get a girlfriend. It would be disrespectful. I'd at least not hit on anyone mourning the person who got picked. I respect life, and the loss of it.

I open the door, and catch a glimpse of a tall figure scurrying away. That would be Sierra, I guess. I dunno, having someone chasing after me makes me feel uncomfortable...I wonder if that's how the girls I hit on feel? Nah, I'm charming, handsome, and intelligent. What else could they want, really? I sigh. Maybe I _should _tone it down a little...part of me feels like the only reason I'm acting like this is to get the pain of the Reaping out of my head.

I take a blood test and walk casually into line as the usual video starts to play. Blah blah blah death, blah blah blah destruction, blah blah blah rebuild, blah blah blah Panem, blah blah blah yay! Blah blah blah Hunger Games. I know the drill. Everyone is tense, but I'm trying to remain relaxed. I scratch my arms as the escort takes the stage, "ladies first," something I really tire of hearing.

I can just imagine a drum roll behind her selection of the female name, or maybe tense, dramatic music. Maybe that will play during the Capitol's viewing. I wouldn't be surprised.

"Sierra McDonald."

I hear a terrified shriek from the purple-haired girl. I assume she's the daughter of a miner, what with the darker skin tone and all. I feel bad...she stalks up, sobbing violently as she towers over the escort, who looks a little scared and has nervously glanced at the noticeably lax Peacekeepers.

"Our male...tribute next, then." She draws her hand into the bowl and pulls out a name.

"Cody Anderson."

"NOOOO!"

The scream comes not from my mouth, I have barely any time to draw breath. No, the scream comes from Sierra, who is onstage and televised.

"No! Not Cody! No! Somebody volunteer! SOMEBODY VOLUNTEER!"

I solemnly walk up onto the stage, arms trembling as I watch Sierra try everything to get me out of the Games. She gets more and more emphatic, and eventually is restrained by Peacekeepers, but not before flipping an undisclosed individual (possibly the entire district, more likely the Capitol) off.

I am going to die...funny. I don't feel like I'm going to die. I feel numb. Insignificant. No one volunteered for me...then again, no one ever volunteers in this district. I attempt to smile in some pathetic facade, trying to convince the district, my parents that I'm alright.

I'm really not.

* * *

**I'm well aware that DJ is actually Jamaican, however, it would make a lot more sense for him to be in the African American District 11 than a Caucasian contestant. Just so you guys know. Thanks all for reading. Here are all the tributes.**

**Tribute List:**

**District 1:**

Justin

Lindsay

**District 2:**

Alejandro

Heather

**District 3:**

Harold

Izzy

**District 4:**

Duncan

Eva

**District 5:**

Noah

Courtney

**District 6:**

Owen

Katie

**District 7:**

Tyler

Bridgette

**District 8:**

Geoff

Sadie

**District 9:**

Trent

Gwen

**District 10:**

Ezekiel

Beth

**District 11:**

DJ

Leshawna

**District 12:**

Cody

Sierra

**See you next time!**


	3. Transit: Part One (Districts 1-6)

**District 1**

**Lindsay POV**

Ya know, this train is really nice! I mean, it's really cozy, and it's really fun to watch out the window at everything just zipping right by! I've kinda been doing that for a while now, trying to keep my mind off what's gonna happen in the Arena...I mean, I might win! Right? I'm pretty, and my daddy's last words of advice were how to win! Get sponsors. And...to tell the stylists to put on as little clothes on me as possible? How would a cool breeze help me win again? I'm confused.

Jacob has been really sad. Like, really sad. It's sad to watch. He keeps crying about how his career's gonna be ruined, and he's gonna die. He seems really concerned about his appearance...like, a lot. Ooh, I wonder what we're gonna be wearing! It's so exciting! Okay, I might die, and yeah, I'm sad about that. Like, really sad. But I'm determined to make the best of it! I'm not gonna go down without a fight! Yes!

"Ohhhhhh, woe is meeeeeee," Justin groans, hand on his forehead as he melodramatically leans back on the couch.

"Um, Jacob?" I ask.

"Justin."

"No, you're Jacob. You're hot."

He grins that...that amazing grin...thing. Man, he could be a real competitor if he would stop groaning! No girls would want to kill him! "Thanks, Lindsay. Thanks for trying to cheer me up."

"Wait, I cheered you up? Yay!" I giggle and clap my hands together. I cheered Jacob up! That's always good! "Wait, was I asking you a question?"

"Yes. Yes you were."

"Riiiiggghhttt," I say, nodding, hoping I don't look totally clueless right now. Oh my gosh, I didn't realize I looked so clueless until someone pointed it out to me! I looked in the mirror and he was right. Oh, and then-

"Um, Lindsay? Lindsay?" There's a snapping sound, and my eyes find Jacob's fingers in front of my face.

"Right, sorry!" I giggle. There's a silence for a couple of seconds. What's going on? Did I forget to say something again?

"You still need to ask me your question," Jacob says, and I nod my head.

"Ohhhhh, right. Hey, Jacob, why are you so worked up? You're really, really, reeeeeaalllly, muscular, and really fit too! Wouldn't you, like, have a good chance of winning?"

"That's the problem, Lindsay," he sighs, arms resting on his legs and a hand on his cheekbone. "I worked hard to get like this, ya know? But I never took Career training. I just assumed that someone would volunteer for me if I ever got picked? I'm doooomed."

I nod. "I was, like, the same way. My daddy said that he would never let me into the Games. He, like, minimi...minime...shrunk the chances of me getting in to like, less than a percent! But...I still got in..."

It's quiet. Daddy, I miss you...you hugged me and told me to win, even though...even though...even though I'm just a big-boobed blonde! I'm not gonna make it back, am I? Jacob looks at me worriedly, so I must be about to cry...

I start bawling. Jacob looks uncomfortable, like he doesn't know what to do. "Um, Lindsay...are you okay...Lindsay?"

I stop myself, but continue sniffling. No... "I miss my dad."

He pats me on the shoulder. "It's okay...I think. I'm...not really sure what to do here, so...what can I do to help?"

"You could help me win," I sniffle.

"We're in the Careers together. I'll help you until I can't help anymore."

"Thanks, Jacob," I smile.

"Justin."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

I start thinking. "Is the guy who has won the Games before and is gonna help us gonna be here soon? I need something to do."

"Castor?"

"Who?"

"Castor. Our mentor. The guy you were just asking about."

"Ohhhhh," I smile and nod again. I get it now! Maybe I'm not as dumb as people say I am!

Jacob smiles, although I know it's not real. I don't tell him, though. He'd be in the bathroom for an hour trying to get it perfect. "Uggggh," he groans, placing his hand to his neck. "My neck and shoulders are really cramped. Man, I would really be enjoying this train ride more if I could actually relax."

"Awwwww," I giggle, and look at him. "Anything I can do to help?"

He smiles kinda slyly at me. "You could give me a massage."

Huh? Oh...I squeal in joy. "Oh my gosh, yes! That would be perfect!"

He grins. "I thought that would be the case." He pulls off his shirt, and-OH MY GOSH IT'S BEAUTIFUL. He's gonna get a _lot _of sponsors. I'm drawn in, oh my gosh I'm actually doing this!

I hold my hand out hesitantly. "Um...can I?" I ask uncertainly. He nods, grinning, and I giggle a little bit. Wow, he might get so much sponsors he could _win. _Like, really! ...is this the same as when all those boys back at home used to stare at me?

I'm about to touch his back when the door bursts open, and a young guy with blond hair and stubble saunters (wait, I'm using this word correctly...right?) into the room.

"Okay, let's see what we have here! Justin Bailey, and Lindsay Top-" He stops in his tracks when he sees my hand on Jacob's shirtless back. My face feels like the sun. I can't see Jacob's face, so I don't really know how he's taking it.

"Oh, don't mind me," he says in a really weird, flat tone of voice. It always confuses me when people talk like that! And when I always respond, they say they didn't mean it! It's so confusing! "Just continue whatever the hell you're doing. I'll just leave this book here for you that'll tell you how to survive."

"Okay Callum!" I say happily, only to get the baffled look from him. Was that sarcasm? Damn.

He glances us over, and smirks, and walks out. "The Capitol is going to love you! And Justin, they'll probably even understand you. No man can die a virgin, right?" He laughs cruelly as he slams the door. I don't like him. He's mean.

Justin (wow, is that really his name?) picks up the book and smiles slyly. "Well, that's one less voice yapping at my ear."

"Wait. I thought dogs yapped, not people."

He ignores me and puts his shirt on. "Let's see what we have here."

"But...what about the massage?"

"Maybe later."

* * *

**District 2**

**Heather POV**

Ugh. This sucks, big time. Stuck with Ale-jerk-dro the entire ride, and his idiotic brother volunteered to be both of our mentors. I saw Jose smirking when Alejandro volunteered! They don't care about each other at all! Not like...I'd care anything about Alejandro's family relations...I mean...ugh, never mind. Moving on. I angrily stab my knife into the table offhandedly, not really paying attention. I'm just watching the countryside go by. Better this way.

I'm looking forward to stabbing someone in the eye. Or the chest. Or anywhere, really. I'm perfectly fine with being selected. Of course, my bitch friends hung me out to dry, but I'm grateful. I can go out with a bang, and hopefully be remembered as a fierce competitor and a threat. And if I win? Well, that's just the icing on the cake. I've trained for this my whole life. I'm prepared to die.

Not that, I, you know, want to die. I've just accepted the possibility. And then there was the whole fight I'd had with Alejandro the other day...little bastard, thinking he can weasel in on my business. He has the nerve to say he cares for me and then volunteers for the Games after I've already been picked! Ugh. It makes me sick just thinking about it.

"Pardon, Heather." Great, the eel's back. Alejandro sprawls comfortably in the chair across from me, looking completely relaxed.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask furiously, crossing my arms.

He raises an eyebrow, crossing his legs and putting his arms on the back of the chair. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Why did you volunteer for the Games, asshole? Your brother already won, you would have lived in the Victor's Village your whole life. And in all likelihood you're going to die. So why. Are. You. Here."

His eyes widen, if only for a moment, but then he composes himself. "I...wanted to show up my brother," he confesses, sighing.

"Jose? But...you have a one in twenty-four chance of winning. Plus, you'd be fighting _me. _I thought you said you _cared _for me."

He winces from the verbal blow. "Heather, two sides of me fought during the Reaping. The side of me that wanted to beat my brother, and the side that wanted to be with you."

I hiss. "That is _never going to happen, _asshole."

He sighs. "I know. My hatred for my brother won that battle. I apologize, dear Heather. When I win, there will be plenty of women flocking at my doorstep."

He smugly stands, and starts walking away. I decide that I need to have the last word. "The only reason they'd be at your door would be for the house. Not you."

Alejandro stops in his tracks, and I can see his fist clench. "We'll see about that, Heather. We'll see..." He walks away, heading into another compartment.

Another door opens, and the older Burromuerto struts in, hair newly gelled and arrogant smirk applied to face.

"Heather," Alejandro's even-more-of-a-jerkass brother greets me.

"Bitch," I reply in kind.

"I was thinking I would give you some starting advice for the game. My dear brother Al doesn't want to hear it. So, if he dies, it's his loss."

I shake my head in disbelief. "You really don't care about him, do you."

"And you don't." He doesn't phrase it like a question. I scowl.

"No."

He smirks. "Good. Then I hope you won't mind my request that you get rid of him as soon as possible. Winning runs in our blood, and Al just might be one of, if not the most competent tribute in the Arena."

"I doubt you've ever told him anything like that," I sneer.

He glances me over. "You're going to need to eat more. You don't have much muscle tone. You should also consider cutting your hair. Waist-length hair like you have now will only get in your way."

"Why the change of subject?" I ask.

"Well, it's clear you care too much about him to kill him, so I thought I'd move on," he says smugly.

"I DO NOT!" I yell, standing up and slamming my fists on the armrests. "ALEJANDRO IS DEAD TO ME! HE VOLUNTEERED! TO ONE-UP _YOU! _I'M GOING TO TAKE PLEASURE IN STABBING HIM THROUGH THE SKULL!"

I breathe heavily, and Jose gives me an unimpressed look. "That's more like it."

I hear a creaking from the door Alejandro had gone through, and I look through to see his retreating form scamper away.

"Look at that. You probably broke his near-nonexistant heart." He laughs sadistically. "Bitch."

I seethe at him, and storm off through the opposite door. Ugh. It's like being annoying runs in their family. I lie down in my bed, and just decide to sleep.

I've had enough Burromuerto for one day.

* * *

**District 3**

**Harold POV**

So far, Izzy has tried to kick the waiter out the window, kicked our poor mentor in the nuts, screamed about how she wasn't going to go down without a fight, and is now curled up on the floor of the dining car, where no one even dares to come close to her. Gosh, she took it hard. She always seemed so happy, too! This blows. But I've accepted my fate. I'm not going to win. My parents are sad, of course, but I hope to go out with honor. Seems to be a rarity these days.

I'm trying to use these insanely luxurious conditions to get my mind off of it. But I can't, so I try to figure out my strategy once I get into the Arena. Hmn. I definitely should not go to the Cornucopia. I'd die in about a minute. It all depends on what kind of Arena we're having. Hmn. Time to make some electronic flash cards! That way, I can run through every possible Arena scenario there is so I know what to do for each one! Yes!

I'm still probably not going to win. But I said I was going to go down with honor. Going down in the bloodbath is not honor. That is just being an idiot. Gosh! I don't see how every single time people think it's a good idea to even try it! It's not. Okay, so, let's start with the worst one first. Tundra, ice weather...find shelter and create my own weapons. Use sticks to create a concealed fire...avoid anyone who gets in your way. Okay, that's good. Moving on, in the desert-

"Harold?"

Izzy is standing there in the hallway, hair a mess and dark circles under her eyes. I smile.

"Hey, Izzy. You want something to drink? There's plenty of awesome stuff here. It's not like our district. It's actually really nice."

She nods. "I know, but...I kinda lost it a little bit. Yeah. I'm gonna need to take this a little more even-headed...ly. Is that a word? I think it's a word, but I'm not sure. Harold, you're smart, is even-headedly a word?"

"Not officially, no," I explain. I consider myself a giver of knowledge to all those who care to listen. Unfortunately, it seems no one cares to listen. But maybe people will listen when I'm in the Arena, and saying stuff about how we need freedom...crap, the Capitol will just edit it out. Darn it!

"Okay, well, I think I've got a plan," she says, a light in her eyes. "You know that I'm wildly creative," she cackles for a moment before continuing. "and pretty athletic and dangerous, but I can't survive on that alone. I need an alliance that isn't just one thing, it needs to have different people who can do different things. Physical strength, intelligence-not that I'm not intelligent, I just can't use it all the time."

"Are you implying me?" I ask, putting a hand on my chest.

She shakes her head. "No, because I'd know you too well and you'd either die or I'd have to end up killing you."

I nod somberly. "I understand."

She grins. "Good. I won't kill you if I see you, Harold."

"Um, thanks."

She laughs. "You're welcome! I'm not gonna let this get me down! I...I...I'm really tired. But if I go to bed, I'm just gonna dream about the Arena. I don't really...I..."

I smile. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No, I'm good. I just need something to calm me down. I get all worked up...I'm not really sure why..." Her face falls quickly. "At least one of us is going to die."

"I've accepted it," I say proudly. "I hope to die as anyone would hope to, with honor, and meaning!"

She smiles, and it seems bittersweet. "I wish I could be as sure of that as you are...bye for now, Harold." She exits in the direction of the beds.

I sigh loudly. Okay, so, desert. Immediate concern: find water. Any kind of water. Don't worry about the weapons or the other tributes. I will die if I don't find water. Food can wait. Water is the most important thing. Use camouflage to my advantage. Watch out for muttations. The usual. Be wary of everything. Okay, moving on, forest. Okay, that's a lot easier-

"Harold McGrady?"

"Yes?" I look up to see a woman in her thirties, with brown hair and a sympathetic look in her eye.

"I'm your...I'm your mentor. Elissa. At your service. And where is Isabelle?"

"She calls herself Izzy."

She smiles warmly. "Sorry, my mistake. Where is Izzy?"

"I think she went to bed. She caused some problems earlier on."

"Ah, yes, she was the one who kneed that poor man in the nuts?"

"That's right."

She smiles. "I can tell she'll be quite the handful for her mentor. But what about you, Mr. McGrady? What are you doing? What are you good at?"

"I'm smart," I say easily. "I'm currently going through every possible Arena scenario so I know what I need to do in any conditions."

She nods, looking impressed. "We'll talk more about strategy when we're in the Capitol, but so far I'm impressed. But don't let the Capitol know you're doing this. They'll throw more unexpected obstacles in your way to trip you up."

"So...pretend I don't know what I'm doing but in reality I am the mastermind?" I grin at the thought.

She chuckles. "If that's what you want to call yourself. Well, I'll talk to you soon, Harold. I hope the odds are in either of your favors."

* * *

**District 4**

**Duncan POV**

I would never admit this to anyone, especially not any of the Careers, but I am currently feeling hopeless and devastated. I mean...I had to say goodbye to my parents! They didn't approve of my troublemaking, of course, but we...we actually managed to put aside our differences only when I was called forward at that damned Reaping. I could win, I guess...I'm not feeling too confident. Particularly with Muscles here as one of the Careers. One of _us._

Man, does it feel weird to refer to the Careers as "us."

Eva is sitting in her chair with her arms crossed and her eyes closed, looking stiff-backed per the norm but is snoring peacefully. Ha ha, no. It's not peaceful. It almost sounds like the snarls of a war hound, or a muttation. God dammit. On one hand she'll be a powerful ally, what with the big muscles and even bigger temper. But she'll be an unstoppable enemy if she makes it. So, stab the most powerful teammate in the back from the get-go? Or let the biggest threat in the Arena run free until it's too late?

I don't consider myself to be a very sentimental person. And anyone who brings up my tearful separation from my family will get my fist. I don't want anyone bringing that up. I need to be tough to win. I've trained some for this, but I'm really surprised that no one volunteered for me. If I make it back, the people who could have voted for me but didn't will get my fist too.

Eva's eyes open, and she unfolds her arms. "So. How're you holding up?" she asks gruffly, yawning.

"Meh." I make sure to keep my voice as even and emotionless as hers. "Could be better. Like, if someone had actually bothered to volunteer for me. I thought they loved doing this kind of thing."

"Some of us do," she replies simply, and I remember how she'd volunteered for the Milton brat. Just because she could.

"Why did you volunteer anyway?" I ask curiously.

"I've been training for this my whole life. Now I'm ready," she replies, emotionless.

I nod. "What about your token?"

She holds up a small, round stone. "They almost didn't let me bring this in because they thought I could throw it at someone. Well, I could, but it would barely hurt them."

"I won't ask how it's significant," I say, hoping to sound understanding.

"What about yours?"

"Well, I was planning on bringing my pocket knife, but they wouldn't allow it." She snorts. "So, I just brought this." I hold up my grandfather's wedding ring. Eva raises her eyebrow.

"My grandpa's. He died when I was a kid and gave this to me," I explain, and she nods, now understanding.

"I see. I found this stone as a kid on the shore. I thought it was perfect, and kept it." She rubs the back of her head, looking slightly embarrassed. "Is that too girly?"

I snicker. "Maybe." A death glare from Mrs. Smiles reminds me that I'm dealing with someone capable of murdering me with one hand. "Sorry," I quickly apologize, and she nods, seemingly accepting it.

"It's fine. Can we talk about something else now? I hate mushy-feely stuff."

"You and me both," I agree. "So, what's the deal with the Careers? We just gonna go along with it?"

"Duh."

I nod. "Okay. But, you'll kill me if you get the chance, right?"

"Yes."

I gulp slightly. "Right, right, but do you ever consider the fact that you won't win?"

She stares at me strangely, as if I'd asked a question she didn't understand-or didn't know how to answer. "I don't allow myself to think about that."

I nod in appreciation. "I can respect that. It just seems a little odd that you volunteer for these things...it's not glorious, it's just brutal."

She scoffs, training her eyes out the window. "I thought you were the bad boy. Not a softie."

I don't respond. I stand, and start walking. Eva's stare does not move from the window, and I move to a different compartment. I open up a cabinet and pull out the tape of the Hunger Games. In order to find out how to win, I need to know how the tributes did it. I need to know how they survived the longest. I start watching. The first Hunger Games. How strange must it have been to have been in the first Hunger Games, before the Careers had fully formed their alliance? Before there were any mentors to guide them? Before the horror set in?

It's weird to think about. As I sit there, what I realize is that many of these people won by playing to the crowd. By giving them the drama that they wanted. That's the secret? Sponsors? Not weapons, food, or survival instincts, no, _the goddamn show is the most important thing here. _That makes no sense, and I clench my fists. I'm going to have to reconsider my strategy. I'm going to need to give the audience something to care about. And I can't do that by just being cold and distant.

No, I need to show my human side. But still remain a Career. I...I need to talk about how I left my parents, how I was a troublemaker. I need to make people like me. Hmn. How hard can _that_ be?

* * *

**District 5**

**Courtney POV**

Okay, Courtney, let's go over this one more time. Be polite, be respectful, be intelligent. Play to the crowd. Be a nice person even to your enemies so they'll feel bad when they try to kill you. Be in shape. Can't afford to lose...why did no one volunteer for me? I'm popular! I have friends! And no one volunteered for me? I continue pacing back and forth, mouthing the words under my breath. Be likable. Be caring. Be-

"Courtney, there are at least twenty cars on this train that you can pace back and forth in, and you choose this one."

Oh, great. Noah. He just sits there on his chair, slouching while reading his damned book. Little rat. "Why?" I ask indignantly. "There's no rule against it!"

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I looked, and there's no explicit rule against dropping your clothes and taking a piss on the ground, but I'm sure _that_ would be frowned upon." He smirks.

"Shut up, Noah. I'm going over my extensively detailed plan so I can win this thing!"

He raises an eyebrow, looking bored as all hell. "If your plan involves annoying the other tributes into committing suicide using the sound of your obnoxious voice, then you're well on your way to victory."

I clench my fists and growl at him. "Okay, that does it! You are _so_ going down! I'd be glad to kill you myself, you little twerp! You think you're _so _witty and _so _intelligent. Well, what have you done to prepare for the Games? Nothing!"

I stand there, breathing heavily, hoping for any form of reaction. There's five seconds of nothing. Noah blinks. "Yes. Because that is going to get you sponsors."

"GAH!"

I feel ready to strangle his scrawny neck! He chuckles at my anger, and I step back. Okay, Courtney, take a deep breath. You're not allowed to attack tributes before the Games start. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe-

"If I'd wanted to hear your anger management exercises, I would have told you so."

And all in one second my breathing exercise is forgotten. "You shut up!" I shout. "Just shut up, okay? I'm rather glad I never hung around you back in the District because I can't stand you! You are _not _going to win!" I storm off, furious. I'm about to exit the door when I hear his voice calling after me in that obnoxious way of his.

"I don't expect to win."

I slam the door, leaving the annoying egghead in the other room. He's wrong. I have a great plan. Get someone on my side in an alliance. Strength in numbers. Then, when I judge the time to be right, I'll stab them in the back. But...if I do that, I'm going to have to keep being sympathetic. So...maybe orchestrate an argument with my alliance member, then "accidentally" stab them in it. Then cry about it. That should do it!

_And you wonder why Noah is annoyed by you so much._

Ugh, I hate that voice in the back of my mind...maybe this whole plan isn't me. Maybe I'm not the charismatic, perfect player who can manipulate others. Maybe...maybe I could ally with the Careers. For the time being, of course. I'd have to show them I'm worth the effort though...I guess I'll just wait and see what the other tributes are like before making any permanent judgments.

Okay, I just need to...calm down. Stop worrying so much about the Games. Just...relax some. I can worry later. Plenty of time to worry, might as well take some time to think things through slowly and logically. Not emotionally and energetically. I'm totally, perfectly, absolutely fine.

First things first, I plan on killing Noah as soon as possible, if he doesn't die during the bloodbath, of course. It would hardly take any effort. I'll probably ally with the Careers and stab their most powerful player in the back while we're sleeping, and then run away. Then, with supplies stolen from the Careers, I'll move around the Arena, killing anyone who gets in my way. Okay, sounds good! But I need to be the intelligent hero the whole time...hmn, how do I pull that off?

I can almost hear Noah making a snappy retort right now, but he's still engrossed in his book in the other room. There's only one victor from District 5 right now, so he'll be mentoring us both. I think he's taking a nap right now. I wish he weren't. I need something to do...something to plan.

Regretfully, I walk back into the room with Noah in it. Surprisingly, he doesn't say anything to me. Good. He needs to know when to keep his fat mouth shut. I call for some food, and soon there's something called marshmallows in front of me. I squish one uncertainly while holding it up to my face. I try biting off part of it, and it tastes good...really good!

"Yes, they're good. Yes, you can eat them somewhere else."

"This car doesn't just belong to you, you know!" I retort after swallowing. I immediately put the other half in my mouth.

"I wasn't aware."

I finish the marshmallow and hold up two fingers and draw them across my throat to signal to him that he's dead.

He chuckles. "If you could do that exact same gesture, but with a steak knife, my day would immediately be ten times better."

I hiss, and stalk off in the opposite direction I came in, about ten marshmallows in my hands. I slam the door...again, just after I hear a snicker from the other side.

Dear God, I hate him.

* * *

**District 6**

**Owen POV**

WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE!

GREAT SCOTT THIS IS AN AWESOME TRAIN BUT IT'S LEADING US TO OUR DEEEEEAAAATTTHHHHS!

That's what I'm thinking. But what comes out of my mouth is a whimper. I'm learning how to internalize all my thoughts instead of just saying what I think! Apparently, that's a good skill to have. Especially in the Capitol, where my mentor says lies and double talk (whatever that means) are common.

And the food is greeeeeaaaaatttt. I have had three steaks, two pig roasts, spinach, broccoli, the table corners, chicken wings, these amazing things I'd never heard of like pizza, french fries, burgers, and marshmallows, and this amazing drink called hot chocolate! This place is loaded! I've never had ANYTHING this good before!

...

...

...

"BUT WE'RE ALL GONNA DIEEEEEEE!"

I cover my mouth when I realize I'd said that out loud. Heh heh. Guess I still need to have some lessons on keeping my thoughts and words separate.

"Anything I can do to help, Owen?"

Katie is really nice. She's always trying to make me feel better. Which basically means she brings me a lot of food. Like my mom used to do when I was upset about something, heh heh...heh...heh.

...

...

...

"I MISS MY MOM!"

Katie awkwardly pats me on the shoulder. "I do too, Owen. I left my family behind too...we can at least try to win, right?"

I sniffle. "But...I'm fat. I'm not going to be able to defeat all those Careers."

She smiles warmly. "You don't know that! Like, I've been trying to figure out a strategy! I mean...I'm terrified, and miserable, but I'm still going on!"

"You're...miserable?" I whimper. I immediately hug her. She needs to feel better. I need to feel better. We all need to feel better...I start crying again, shoulders heaving and stomach growling.

I don't realize for a couple of seconds that she's crying too. "Is...is there anything _I _can do to help?" I ask.

"Well..." She lets go and wipes a tear from her eye. "I don't think so. Let's just...enjoy the ride, okay?"

I nod, although I'm still trembling. "Okay...just don't worry about the Capitol, right?"

"Right."

I sit down. The seat barely fits. I tilt my head back and close my eyes.

Relax...

Relax...

Relax...

...

...

...

*snore*

* * *

**Thank you all for reading! I do hope I managed to capture their characters correctly, Owen and Lindsay were particularly hard for me. The next chapter will be the tributes from Districts 6-12 in transit to the Capitol. After that, there'll be the parade, then training, then there will be the assessments (which will be only one chapter, from the POV of Chris MacLean.) After that will be the interviews (hosted by Blaineley), and then the Games will begin.**

**See you all next time.**


	4. Transit: Part Two (Districts 7-12)

**'Ello, 'ello. I am here again. Thank you, thank you, too kind, too kind. ...I really don't have anything to say here. Hmn. **

* * *

**District 7**

**Tyler POV**

Why can't I ever catch a break? I've stumbled through and tripped over pretty much everything in my life, both metaphol...metaphorac...whatever, and literally. And now I'm in the GAMES? WHY, MAN WHY? WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST ME, LIFE, HUH? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU? Man, life's not fair...nor was having to say goodbye to...my parents...I'm getting choked up just thinking about it!

The train is pretty cool though. I've only tripped over the doorstep, the rug, the piano, and that tiny crack in the floor! That's a record low of how many times I've tripped in one day! Woo! Hopefully I can keep that streak up...I mean...I don't want to die during the Games because I tripped over a pebble. Eeeeek...that would be horrifyingly embarassing...and I'd be dead. Yeah, that's bad too. I'm gonna have to do some exercises to prevent myself from screwing up. Okay! I can do this! I'd be unstoppable if I didn't have that tripping problem, AND I'M GONNA WIN! YEAH!

Or...or not...maybe...probably...okay, most likely. And I'm feeling really miserable about that...but...I have to win. I have to win for my family. They're rooting for me, even though the odds are against me. I can still do this...I just need to be smart about this. I'm gonna need a pen to write all this stuff down. Okay, what can I do to win...uh...um...eh...I could...um...

...

I dunno.

"Stupid! Stupid!" I smack my hand against my forehead each time I say the word.

"What's wrong?" Bridgette's concerned voice comes from the other side of the aisle. I sigh.

"I just don't know what to do! Man, I already have a bruise on my face and knees, and I'll probably just end up slicing my own head off in the Arena!"

Bridgette stands and sits down across from me. The makeup from the Reaping has been washed off her face, and she looks...normal. Calm. "Well, I'm not expecting to win, Tyler. I hope to go out dignified, without having murdered anyone for the Capitol's gain."

I sigh wearily. "How can you be so...accepting of it, though? Don't you want to try to win?"

"I'll survive as long as I can without killing anyone else. And I hope to convince some people that the Games are not the right thing to do. I'd be satisfied with convincing even just one person in the Capitol." She shrugs.

I nod. "Man...I wasn't even thinking about that...I was kinda just concerned with how I was going to win. I mean...I don't want to die."

"None do."

"Good point."

I try to relax my posture. "That's better," Bridgette smiles warmly. "Just relax. Go down fighting if you can, but would you rather die miserable or as a hero?"

"Uh, hero, I guess." I scratch the back of my head uncertainly. "But...how do I do that?"

Bridgette is about to respond when the compartment door opens. A slim, young man with curly brown hair and a narrow face strolls in. "Um...hi. Your mentor, at your service."

"You're our mentor?" I ask, but it must have sounded rude because Bridgette glares at me.

"I'm...the only qualified victor from District 7."

"What do you mean the only 'qualified' victor?" Bridgette asks, raising an eyebrow.

"The only two other victors we've ever had are both addicted to morphine."

The two of us nod, now understanding. He leans towards us. "I still have hope in the District. Although, I must stress that that, given time, I could end up as pitiful as they."

We're not really sure how to react to that statement. He leans forward. "I hope to see one of you as a fellow victor. But you need to remain strong. Sometimes I wonder whether or not I got the better end of the deal with the Games...it might have been better just to die."

"We'll do what we can," Bridgette says comfortingly.

He nods. "Okay. First things first. What are each of your strengths?"

"Nature. I can determine which plants are edible and I'm excellent at camouflage," Bridgette says easily.

"Um..." I scratch the back of my head uncertainly. "My strength, I guess."

"Okay..." our mentor says, leaning back and crossing his legs. "What about weaknesses?"

"I'm a pacifist," Bridgette replies.

"I'm clumsy," I admit.

Our mentor nods. "Okay...let us see, let us see...we'll be training some in the capital. I just need to evaluate you two, see what you need to improve on and what your strengths are. Most importantly, you need to get people to like you. What are your positive traits?"

Bridgette shrugs. "I try to be nice to everyone."

I furrow my eyebrows in thought. "I'm very enthusiastic," I say finally.

"Negative traits?"

"I'm a pacifist."

"I'm clumsy."

"Right." Our mentor sighs. "I'm not going to promise you you're going to make it home. But it's my job to help get you home, and that's exactly what I plan to do. Just...enjoy yourselves, okay?" He sighs, and mutters something under his breath that I can't hear, and he exits the room.

"What do you think of him?" Bridgette inquires.

I shrug. "He seems kinda...calm for a guy who won the Games."

"It could be a facade."

"...what's a facade?"

"Oh, a mask." She smiles. "Sorry."

"It's all good. I'm gonna run around a little bit. I'm getting bored."

"Are you sure that's a good-" Bridgette begins as I start running down the hallway, and trip over a newly cleaned mahogany floor, landing on my face.

"I'm okay! I'm okay!" I quickly get up and continue running.

* * *

**District 8**

**Sadie POV**

I whimper to myself, lying on the couch. The train gently rocks me, and every time I go to sleep I either dream about the Arena or my mom and dad. Like, why? Why did I have to be chosen? I...I've always been the fat, unattractive one, right? How...how can I win? Expecially if I'm in District 8? Like...it's just so...unfair! Like, I know people say life's not fair, but...why can't we try to make it that way? Like, they're all hypocrites! But no one can do anything about it, I guess.

Geoff brings in a plate with a triangular food on it. "Hey, Sadie, brought you this. It's really good. Apparently it's called 'pizza.' Try it!"

"Thanks, Geoff," I sigh. I take the food and snarf it down quickly. Wow...it's really good...but kind of greasy, too. Well, who am I to complain?

"Did you like it?" he asks, sounding unsure of himself. I nod.

"Yeah, thanks for trying to make me feel better," I say, trying to smile for him. He's just such a good-natured guy...he was like, really sad when he got called, and it's possible his niceness might be partly to make himself feel better, as well as me. Like, I don't mean that in a _selfish _"make himself feel better" kind of way, but yeah, it's nice that he's trying.

"You're welcome." He laughs weakly, trying to keep a smile on his face. It doesn't work, but I don't tell him that. It would only make him feel worse.

"So..." I begin, trying to think of something to talk about. "What do you think the Capitol's gonna be like?"

"Well..." Geoff scrunches his eyebrows and scratches his chin, obviously in deep though. "I think that if it's anything like this train, it's gonna be _awesome." _He doesn't mention what happens after we have our stay in the Capitol.

I nod. "There's all this amazing food and drinks...I...I...we never had any of this in the District. It just seems so...uh, I dunno..."

"Strange?"

"Yeah, I guess that's a way of saying it. I mean, like, they have this stuff every day?"

Geoff shrugs. "It is weird to think about, but yeah. These guys live awesome lives." His face darkens a bit. "But I wouldn't want to be someone who watches twenty-four kids kill each other for entertainment. Man, it's so pretty...but so _messed up."_

"Like, it's been twenty-three years. It all started, like, seven years before we were born. It's really weird to think about," I say, nodding.

Geoff puts a hand to his forehead. "I...I don't really know, man. I'm not gonna live. And I really don't want to kill anyone. But, I'm thinking I'm not going to talk to any of the other tributes. I'd just end up _liking _them, and then I'd have to kill them...if I even survive the Bloodbath, that is."

"I don't know what to do, either," I whimper. "Nobody would want to ally with the fat girl."

Geoff leans over and comforts me. "That's not true! You're cool, and I think that if you tried, you could go far with the right alliance member."

"With the right alliance member?!" I ask, enraged. "You're saying I couldn't do it on my own?"

Geoff backs away. "No no, that's not what I-"

"Think I couldn't win without someone helping me get there, do you? Is that it, Geoff? Is that what you think?"

"Sadie, calm down," he says in this really irritating calm voice, holding his hands out in front of him.

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN! I'M PERFECTLY CALM!" I start crying again, lying down on the couch. Geoff sits there awkwardly, not really sure what to do. I wipe a tear from my eye and look at him. "Sorry, Geoff...I didn't mean to snap at you like that. You okay?"

"I...I'm good," he says, sounding a little choked up. "It's okay, I understand the yelling...I've yelled a lot today, at the Capitol, at the sky, at my parents...I dunno, man, something about the Games brings out the worst in us."

I clench my fists. "It sucks, that's for sure. But...I dunno. Do you think we'll be liked?"

"Of course!" He grins in that false way he uses to try to make me feel better. "I try to be nice to everyone, and you're nice too. I think we'll be fine until...until...you know."

I sigh wearily. "I think I'm going to go to sleep. Early. Where's the mentor again?"

"I think she doesn't even care about us and isn't trying."

"Oh. That's rude!"

"And potentially deadly," Geoff groans. "Everyone else but District 12 is going to get a mentor. Man, poor District 12! They've never had a victor before. Tough luck!"

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, it's pretty bizarre...I'm gonna go now. Thanks for talking, Geoff. I hope you win."

"Don't say that," he says, dead serious. "Don't say that, ever. Just try to come out on top. Don't feel like I deserve to win more than you. Be...a little selfish here, okay?" He smiles reassuringly.

"Yeah, okay Geoff," I say finally. I stand and walk to my bed, promptly lie down and fall asleep.

* * *

**District 9**

**Gwen POV**

I scowl. And not just my usual, innate scowl that I use to frighten away people who get too close. No, this scowl is a certified _death glare. _Anyone who comes near me is _dead. _Trent, our mentor, the waiters, that stupid fucking escort, they'll all get my temper if they don't just leave me in fucking peace. One of them had the audacity to joke that my temper about being thrown in the Games would make me win just by throttling all the other tributes' necks.

...but they may not be too far off. I hate everyone right now, except for my parents, and my brother. Trent...I hate him now. I hate him because I'm going to have to kill him in order to survive, or at least watch him die. He's been fucking miserable ever since his name was called, and hasn't been able to talk to me. The only time I've seen him on the train his eyes have been bloodshot from crying, and he quickly turned tail and fled. I sit, alone, in isolation, no one daring to even come near me.

And I'm okay with that.

They disgust me. The Capitol disgusts me. The Gamemakers disgust me. The President disgusts me. The Careers disgust me. They all think of this as a game, when it's fucking hell. I've been described as "badass" or "hardcore" by some of my friends, but as soon as I got picked for the Games, they lose all faith in me and my "badassery."

But...I've kind of lost faith too. I've trained in fighting, illegally, I might add, just in case. But no amount of training could have prepared me for the Games, especially with the Peacekeepers breathing down my back. My life was hard enough as it was, and now I get chosen for the fucking Games! What kind of bullshit is this? My family is miserable right now, and they're treating us like Reality TV stars! How the hell does that make sense? What kind of people could watch the Games with a clear conscience?

The door opens, and Trent enters, eyes still bloodshot. He's trembling. I almost decide to glare at him again, just to make him go away...but I decide not to. He falls into the chair opposite me, hand resting on his chin. There's silence between us for some time, the only noise being the rocking of the train. Neither of us can meet the other's eyes. I know he likes me, er, _liked _me. It's always been obvious who he was crushing on.

But I've never honestly been sure what my opinion of him was, and I certainly can't afford to get attached now. A couple in the Games?...terrible idea. It would never work.

The uncomfortable silence between us is broken by the sound of the door opening again. Billy, our escort, walks in in a surprisingly understated manner, sitting down between us.

"Your mentor is currently preoccupied. And by that I mean he vomited up his meal," Billy says calmly, kicking his legs back. "Also, he's intoxicated. So there's that." He plucks a marshmallow off a plate and chews it slowly.

"So?" I ask, voice biting and caustic.

"He asked me to relay some advice to you." Billy monotones. "First off, he'd like you to stop brooding."

"Him and everyone else on this train."

Billy shrugs. "Touche. But seriously. He says that..." He pulls out a notebook. "_...that behaving in a sulky manner will only push away sponsors and allies. _I quote. His exact words."

I clench my fists. "Has something about my behavior just _screamed _wanting sponsors? Or friends, for that matter?"

"Well," he yawns, "if you expect to survive-"

"I don't expect to survive this!" I shout, slamming my hands on the table. "I'm fucking toast! I'm dead! There's no way I'm getting out of this hellhole alive!"

"Certainly not with that attitude," he deadpans, and leans forward. Trent looks around uncomfortably, scratching his arm. Billy turns to him.

"Sorry, Trent. Perhaps we could talk privately?"

Trent shakes his head no. Billy sighs. "Alright. Can you leave so I can talk to the lady."

He sighs. "Fine." He stands and stiffly marches out of the room. Billy narrows his eyes and turns to me.

"I'm sympathetic towards your situation."

For once, I'm speechless. "Really?" I scoff. "You're sympathetic? Wow. Guess your heart isn't black, cold, and shriveled after all."

"Nor is yours," he replies coolly. "I can't do anything about it just yet. I have friends, though. Important friends. I can't guarantee your total safety, but I can definitely make it easier for you and Trent. Now, your mentor would not approve of this. And I will understand if you decline."

"Would you...really...there'd be nothing in return?"

He shrugs. "I don't work that way."

"But...why? Why would you do this?"

"We don't agree with Panem," he says simply. "With any luck, given years, decades, our sympathetic movement will grow inside the Capitol, and then we will perform our coup. Our leader-" He stops, apparently catching himself. "I've said too much. Will you take the deal?"

I glare at him. "This isn't about me. This isn't about sympathizing with me. This is about your own interest. You'd just as soon kill me, _escort."_

He sighs. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He stands, and throws the notebook down onto the table. "So long. Oh, and don't tell anyone about this. Kay?" He exits, and I slump, pondering the information he gave me. He wants to...help me, huh? How bizarre...and this movement...where are they? Who are they?

What is going on here?

* * *

**District 10**

**Ezekiel POV**

Well, this pretty much sucks. I've lived my whole life in the livestock district. I'm just a poor boy from a poor family, this ain't fair. I always thought I'd live to be really old, and be able to pass on all the wisdom I've collected over the years. And now...I'm in the Games. I'm not strong. I'm...kinda smart. I think. Possibly. I dunno, man, but this sucks. I've never learned how to use a weapon before? Apart from gutting livestock, that is. I don't really think gutting people is the same. God, I hope not.

What also sucks is that we're one of two Districts to never have won the Games before. Poor District 12, man...sucks to be them. Sucks to be us too, really. We have no support, no help. Just ourselves, and whoever is willing to help us. Do we get a mentor that didn't compete in the Games? It would be unfair if we had to go in there alone. Then again, Careers train even though it's SUPPOSED to be illegal. I...I miss my dad...my mom...my cat...

I'm not gonna make it. I'm not gonna make it. Nope, nope, nada. No way...oh, God, why do I keep doing this to myself? Why do I only make things worse when I think about this? This...this train is so pretty, so...nice, but I'm terrified out of my wits. Beth is terrified out of her wits. WE'RE ALL TERRIFIED OUT OF OUR WITS, EH? Man...it just sucks. I already said that. Heh heh heh...heh...heh. I'm not funny. One bit. Heh heh...no. Am I okay right now? Eh, probably not...completely stable.

I stand, walking over to the food. That should distract me, I guess. I move over, looking for something that looks good. Plenty of it looks amazing, but I'm not entirely sure...hmn, there's some steak. So that's where all that cow meat goes...mmn, looks good. Some pork. Meh. Mashed potatoes. This weird sauce thing. I pick up a fluffy bread roll, and eat it. Oh my God...that is amazing. I take about five of them. I've never had bread this good before! The few times I've ever had bread it's been cold and stale.

I grab some steak, more rolls, and salad, and start eating. Wow...if I'd had food this good at home, I'd be fat right now! I chomp, slurp, snarf it all down. One of the waiters looks disgusted, and I grin at her, lettuce in my teeth. I continue eating like an animal, and Beth walks in, sniffling, and eyes bloodshot. I don't care about table manners in front of Capitol people, but in front of people from my own district, I'm a bit meeker. More sensitive. I wipe my mouth with a napkin and eat more normally.

"Hey Zeke," she says weakly, sitting down and taking a bite out of a roll.

"Hi," I say with my mouth full, waving at her. I swallow. "Hi," I say again.

She sighs. "You like the food?"

"Yeah, eh! It's awesome! You should try some."

She takes another bite of a roll. "I just did. Not feeling any better...I miss Bertha."

"Who's Bertha?"

"My pig."

"Ohhhh," I say, nodding and grinning. I don't know Beth that well. Nice, I guess, but we weren't really good friends. I feel bad for her, though.

She half smiles, and takes another bite. "I-I'm sorry, it's just...this is all a lot to take in, and I-I miss my parents, a-and my pig, a-and...a-and..." She starts sniffling and I sit there awkwardly, steak juice running down my shirt.

"Um, there there?" I say confusedly, hesitantly patting her on the shoulder. "Am I doing this right?"

"You're fine."

"Oh, okay, good." I sigh in relief, and sit back. "I was getting kinda worried there, I don't really know how to comfort people."

She shrugs. "It's okay. Aren't...aren't you scared right now?"

"Are you kidding?" I try to shout, but my voice cracks while I'm talking. "I'm terrified!"

She giggles out of nervousness. "Aren't you miserable?"

"Yeah, that too, eh."

She tears up again. "I'm miserable. I'm going to die...I'm going to die without seeing my family again."

"Um...I don't know what to say to that."

She sighs again. "I'm sorry, Zeke. It's just...I...I dunno. I feel kind of empty, hollow, you know?"

I nod in agreement. "Like I'm not here. And this isn't happening. Right?"

She nods. "Yeah...it doesn't feel real. It feels like a dream, and I'll just wake up, and _poof, _everything will be better...I know that's not true though. I'm doomed."

"Well, this may not be a dream, eh," I say, trying to sound comforting. "But you aren't doomed yet. Only if you say you are."

She smiles. "That's surprisingly...deep. Thanks."

"Any time." I try to smile, but I don't really know if it works. And I can still feel lettuce in my teeth. So there's that. Beth stands and takes some food. She leaves, leaving me to me, myself, and I. And my thoughts. I'm going to die...I gulp, shivering and whimpering. We're screwed (am I using this word in the correct context?) no matter what we do. I'm dead...I'm dead...I'm dead. So is Beth, although I won't let her know that. There's no way I'm going to live...

...oh God, why do I do this to myself?

Well, it's not me. It's the Capitol, all the way.

* * *

**District 11**

**DJ POV**

Two sides of me are conflicting right now. There's the noble side that volunteered in the place of that poor, poor toothpick kid, Cameron. Then, there's the side that wants to remain with my mama, just stay home and not have to worry about the Games, not have to worry about leaving her. I feel like I should be...confident that I did the right thing. But I'm not too sure if I made a noble sacrifice, or just threw my life away. Maybe...there's no difference. Just maybe.

I rub the scar on my arm from when I tried to stop a six-year old boy from being whipped. I've always tried to help people as much as I could in the tightly controlled District 11. Any form of rebellion will get you whipped. I've been whipped three times. I'm kind of considered a threat. It sickens me that I have to keep my head low when other people are in pain. I guess that's what I get for being born in District 11...I sigh, holding my head in my hands. Stupid, stupid...

I...I have a chance of winning. I'm strong. I'm fast. All from years of working, laboring. But...I couldn't hurt anyone. I had a dream last night, a nightmare, really. I was in the Games. But I wasn't dying...I was winning. I beat in a tribute's skull, and then stabbed him in the chest. It was...very vivid...I don't want to become that! I don't want to become a monster! Not even to win. I am only here to save Cameron...I am fully prepared to die. I will not submit.

I pop a marshmallow in my mouth. These things...they are amazing. Unlike anything they ever give us in District 11. Sometimes I wonder whether our district was the worst off, whether the others are any better. They never let us know what the other districts are like. I know why. To keep us separated. To keep us isolated, alone, disconnected. Maybe I'm waxing philosophical, maybe I should be more concerned about my probable death. Yet...strangely...I don't feel too afraid. Just confused. I did the right thing, right? I'm here...and I have a chance of winning. Right?

Leshawna enters the room, looking enraged as usual. Her face seems to lighten up a little bit as she sits down, but places a hand to her stomach, as if she's feeling queasy. "Hey DJ."

"What's going on, Leshawna?" I wave to her, smiling.

"I...I dunno. I'm scared...scared about what's going to happen. But I know that I'm not gonna let them just run me over."

I sigh. "My mama was confused about my decision. Said that she'd never thought I'd be self-righteous enough to give my life away."

She winces. "And how did you respond?"

"I hugged her," I whimper, starting to tear up. "And told her that if I won, she'd never have to work again...and that I'd win, not just for her, but for our whole district, for Cameron."

She looks strangely...guilty. "I...I've never thought about winning this for the district. Just for myself. How would you win...for the district?"

"I'd do my best from the Victor's Village to help the others out in any way I possibly can," I say simply.

It's quiet for a time, and after about thirty seconds Leshawna responds. "Does it seem weird to you that at least one of us is going to die in a week?"

I wait a couple of seconds before responding. "Yes. And in case I die..." I hold out my hand for her to shake. "I wish you well."

She tears up. Not like the sassy, attitude-filled Leshawna I knew in the district. "Thanks, DJ. I wish you well too." We shake hands, and we sit back. The silence lies between us once again. The train bumps slightly.

"What do you think about all this food? This luxury the Capitol has every day of their lives...it just seems strange to me, you know?" I ask her, trying to keep conversation up so I don't think about Mama.

"It sickens me," she declares confidently, much to my shock and surprise.

"Why?"

"They live like this, while we live in poverty and desolation? Hell, I've got scars from trying to find _stale bread, _and I know you have some scars too, DJ. And they've been living like this all this time...like I said, it sickens me."

"I...I understand that. But I don't hate them. It's all they know. I only hate the ones who made them so ignorant and shallow."

"You mean the President?"

"Yes...I guess I do hate him. Weird. I don't think I've ever really hated anybody before. Not even the Peacekeepers."

She laughs. "I guess it's just not in your blood to hate people. Man, I sometimes wish I could be like that."

"No. Now, you probably should hate people," I sigh regretfully. "What with going into the Arena and all. But I'm not. I'm not going to kill _anyone. _I...I would never forgive myself. Do you think you're going to kill people?"

She looks around hesitantly. "I don't know, DJ. I don't know." She stands. "See ya," she says, holding out a hand in farewell before moving to a different car.

I slump in a heap. I'm not as confident about this as I'd like to think I am. I'm not fit to be in the Games. I couldn't and wouldn't hurt a fly. But in the end, will I end up killing?

Dear God, I hope not.

* * *

**District 12**

**Sierra POV**

THIS CAN'T BE! CODY'S GOING INTO THE ARENA! WITH...WITH...WITH ME! HE'S SO SMALL! HE'S TOO YOUNG! HE'LL DIE! HE CAN'T GO INTO THE ARENA! I WON'T ALLOW IT! I WON'T ALLOW IT! NO! NO! NOT HAPPENING ON MY WATCH! NO! NO!

Heh heh heh...heh heh...heh...

I should probably calm down now. They already had to subdue me once, no reason why they wouldn't do it again. Well, at the very least it wasn't out loud that time. But poor Cody...he's so small, and fragile! If he doesn't get help, he'll be toast in the Arena! And...he knows I'm in love with him now, of course. That would be kind of obvious. He hasn't really responded though. I don't blame him! Two lovers in the Arena? From District 12? IT WOULD NEVER WORK, AND HE'S GONNA DIE!

I scowl. At the very least, I can help him in any way I can. I haven't really even seen him after we got on the train, though. Where is he? Could he be hiding from me? Nah, he'd never do that. I think. I sigh overdramatically, plucking a french fry and putting it in my mouth. I don't feel like I'm going to die. I feel...normal? Is that weird, or what? I said goodbye to my parents. I'm really sad about that...and that Cody's here. What are the odds, really?

Seriously, what _are _the odds? Like, come on! I plop another piece of food in my mouth. There are no mentors for us that have been in the Games before. There'll probably be someone who helps us, but they won't have the same experience as the mentors who have already been out there in the Arena. There'll be no first hand knowledge, and in order to do things, I need to have a first-hand knowledge.

Okay, let me think. Cody needs to live. He's too nice. I'll offer to be in an alliance with him. I'm strong, and very, very, very persistent. My mom said it was one of my most prominent traits! ...that's a good thing, right? He's smart, so he could call the shots, and I would protect him to the best of my ability. And in the end, I'd make sure he gets out of the Arena alive, at any cost. NO MATTER WHAT! Yes, I have my strategy now! I'm NOT going to live, I know that I'm dead, but Cody needs to live. He's nice, smart, and is really adorable when he tries to get the ladies but fails.

I stand. Okay. I've got my strategy. Maybe my mom wouldn't approve of me throwing away my life for a boy, but I feel that this is the right thing to do. I've been trained in the bow, the sword, and a whole bunch of other really useful stuff! I'd be unstoppable as an ally! Okay, now to find Cody and convince him that this really is the best option, and that he needs to do this in order to win. I move from car to car, looking around for him.

"Cody? Cody? Cooooddddyyyy?"

He opens the door to the bathroom, and lets out a startled yelp when he sees me. "Gah! Oh, hey Sierra. What's going on?"

I take a deep breath. "I have a proposition for you."

He nods, crossing his arms, looking really cute...GAH, I'm only making it worse! "Okay, go ahead. I'm listening. For now."

I take another breath, and he raises an incredulous eyebrow. "Would you like to be in an alliance?" I ask breathlessly.

"Um, an alliance?" he asks nervously, scratching the back of his neck like he always does when he's nervous. "I thought that you...um, would just stay away from me to avoid seeing me die."

I cross my arms indignantly. "Um, no. I'd like to get you out of this Arena alive, Cody"

"Why not yourself? I mean, I saw you going through my stuff, and I guess that means you like me, but...keeping me alive in a life or death situation? Isn't that a little extreme?"

"You're a better person than me. You deserve it." I sniffle a little bit. He looks a little uncomfortable.

"Well...okay. What can you do?"

I brighten up. "Ooh, I can shoot the bow and arrow, I can use a sword, I'm super strong, and I have purple in my hair." I giggle. "I could die it to blend in more if necessary."

He glances at me quizzically. "Um...how did you...um, do that again?"

I shrug. "I'm kind of crazy-prepared."

"I can tell. Um, I've got to go now. I'll think about the alliance. We'll see, okay, Sierra?" He smiles, and I stare at the gap in his teeth. I'm still staring at the same spot after he's left the room. I snap out of my trance. There he goes...always so nice, and polite...he deserves to win more than I do. That's fact, and nothing will change my mind. Mom, I'm sorry. Dad, I'm sorry.

But most of all, if I fail, Cody, I'm sorry

* * *

**Sierra's a bit of a parody of how Katniss was trying to protect Peeta in Catching Fire. And it seems as though there's something big going on...we'll see. So far, we've met all the tributes, and it seems we've gotten attached to a lot of them. Sadly, only one will come out alive. At the end of every chapter while we're actually in the Games, I will provide the rankings and provide the reasonings for why I killed off a certain character at a certain time.**

**But for now, we still have to arrive in the Capitol, have the parade, have some training, see the Gamemakers, and meet Blaineley for interviews.**

**Ciao.**


	5. Opening Ceremony

**The arrivals in the Capitol are in my mind unimportant, therefore we are skipping straight to the opening ceremony. This chapter will be maybe a thousand words shorter than usual, sadly. Thanks for all of you who have read. The chapters and what happens in them have been finalized. After this chapter, there will be one chapter about the tributes settling in, then two chapters about training, then one for the Gamemaker's test from Chris's point of view, and in the same chapter the characters will receive the results. Then there will be one chapter for the interviews and their final thoughts. Then the Games shall begin. Therefore, the Games shall begin in Chapter 11.**

* * *

**Head Gamemaker**

**Chris McLean**

I peer over Hatchet's shoulder at the final touches of the Arena design. I nod in approval. "That's perfect. LOVE it, high five, Chef, high five." Gamemaker Hatchet rolls his eyes at me, not saying anything. "Come on, don't leave me hanging?" I grin that perfect, artificial grin of mine, that only surgery could provide. The only outward sign of my Capitol origins. That and the hair gel. Other than those, I could be from one of the Career districts. When it comes to fashion, I feel less is more.

"Okay, the ceremony's going to be starting soon, so I'd better get going. VIP box and all." I flash him my signature grin before departing, and I can just feel him rolling his eyes behind me. Gamemaker Hatchet doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's important. Generally. I strut confidently through the halls, slipping into the elevator. Ah, the opening ceremony...such a beautiful, extravagent waste of time. I can hear the cheers already. The elevator lets me off and I sit down on a couch. I glance over the ceremony._  
_

_Oh horn of plenty, the horn of plenty overflows..._

I must say, the national anthem is pretty freaking wicked. If not misleading. Horn of plenty for the Capitol, not for the districts. Heh, not that I care. I pull out a pair of electronic binoculars. Newly designed, they're capable of zooming in and giving me the names and backgrounds of the tributes in its sights.

An uproarious crowd, as per the norm. But as this is my first year in the VIP box, the jubilant cheers of the crowd are muffled by glass and steel. I catch a glimpse of Blainely O'Halloran in the announcer's box, doing their whole talk show shtick. They most likely are discussing what the contestants are going to look like, what the stylists are thinking, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

The first chariot rides in, and the applause and cheering heightens, if possible. I hold my binoculars up to my eyes, examining my victims from District 1. It seems as though _someone _in the Capitol agrees that less is more! I train my binoculars on the male tribute. He is grinning, and there is gold powder scattered over him, and a golden loincloth is the only article of clothing on his body. I can see his grin even now, and can hear the screams and cheers of the female audience.

_Name: Justin Bailey. Aged 17._

Wow, he's pretty ripped. He just stands there, grinning, with his hands on his hips. I train my binoculars on his female counterpart, who also has a golden revealing outfit, eliciting catcalls from the male audience. She's waving and cheering, looking truly happy to be there, so I'm not sure she understands the full gravity of the situation. I shift my eyes to my left, and to my right, and zoom the binoculars in on her chest.

Hey, she's going to die anyway, right? Might as well look at her assets while I still can.

_Name: Lindsay Top. Aged 16._

The second chariot is inbound. District 2. The male tribute is just as physically attractive as the District 1 one, and the female one would be too if she weren't scowling. The male is wearing steel armor and looks quite dashing, a grin on his face as he blows kisses to the audience.

_Name: Alejandro Burromuerto. Aged 18. Volunteered for Scott Smith._

Wait...Burromuerto? As in Jose Burromuerto? Curious...the girl is wearing a less heavy version of Alejandro's armor. She looks positively _nasty. _Heh heh, _she_ should be an interesting competitor. But no matter how much she scowls, the audience still cheers for them. Hmn. I have a feeling that these two are quite competent...it's in the way they carry themselves, somehow. Not arrogant, but self-confident. I have a feeling they'll make it far, but then again, I have been surprised before.

_Name: Heather Chandler. Aged 18._

The third carriage arrives. The technology district. The male tribute is precariously skinny and tall, and looks quite awkward with slicked back ginger hair. Using the precision of these binoculars, I can tell that he's squinting, even though the sun isn't in his eyes. He probably wears glasses. He wears on his black tuxedo what appear to be circuits, giving him the impression of being a machine himself.

_Name: Harold McGrady. Aged 15._

He looks pretty tall for a fifteen-year old. The girl looks even more uncomfortably stiff than he does in the same outfit, her bright orange hair straight and sleek. But one tuft of hair sticks up, and she doesn't bother putting it down, so I assume it is not how she normally looks. Using my binoculars, I can see her uneasiness, eyes cast around nervously. Hmn. Not sure about her just yet. I'll have to keep an eye on her.

_Name: Isabelle Connelly. Aged 16._

Curious. The crowd still cheers, but not as much for the non-Career district. People around me begin to place their starting bets. I have never partook in betting, and I can't start now, being the Head Gamemaker and all. I hold up my hand. "Hold your horses, people," I say jokingly. "We're only six tributes in, after all."

Okay, let's see, hmn, District 4. Okay, wow. Real brute of a guy, scowling, crossed arms. He wears a sea-blue tuxedo, which seems to clash with everything he is. He raises his hand in the air and flips the crowd off. I sit there clutching my binoculars in shock, and then start laughing. I glance at the text on the binocular screen.

_Name: Duncan Calliver. Aged 17._

His eyebrows furrow even more when the audience bursts into laughter at his obscene gesture. He looks out of his element somehow. Of course, that could be the sea-blue tuxedo. Oh...she's even worse. Man, she looks like a bear! Ye god! And she's scowling too, and crossing her arms. And this hulking bear is wearing a very pretty, primmed up sea-blue dress and makeup...dear God...some of these Careers can be absolutely terrifying. But what's different here is that they weren't trying to be.

_Name: Eva Conall. Aged 18. Volunteered for Dakota Milton._

Well, I can certainly see why _she _volunteered. Probably has been training to be a Career ever since she could pick up a stick. There'll be plenty of best on her, I'm sure. She looks like a shark in a tutu, something that should be dangerous and terrifying, but looks ridiculous. District 5 comes in, and I examine their tributes. They appear to be wearing...electrical panels? They look absolutely ridiculous. I zoom in on the boy. He's short and skinny, and looks bored as hell. He conceals a yawn behind his fingertips. Strange...he seems to carry himself with the same confidence as a Career despite his short stature...

_Name: Noah Hayden. Aged 16._

The girl is taller and more athletic than him. She keeps a polite smile on her face, waving to the crowd. She gives off the impression of overachieving, trying too hard...curious. I'm not entirely sure what to think just yet. The tributes of District 5 are both wild cards. I'll have to see how she fares later.

_Name: Courtney Brenton. Aged 17._

_And when you raise the cry_

_The brave shall heed the call_

_And we shall never falter..._

District 6. I can't really tell what their clothing is supposed to symbolize. Okay, let's see what the boy's like. Okay...interesting...our first overweight contestant. He's blond, and looks very, very conflicted, confused, like he doesn't know whether to cheer or cry. I don't think he's going to make it far, but like I said, I've been surprised before.

_Name: Owen Grant. Aged 15._

The girl appears to be tanned considerably, and quite skinny. She stars straight ahead. She seems to be attempting to keep her emotions controlled, and is staring straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone. Pft. She seems worried. Gee, I wonder why. It's not like she has a one in twenty-four chance of dying in a horrible, televised death in front of all of Panem.

_Name: Katie Edwards. Aged 14._

Well, she's definitely the youngest contestant so far. Okay, District 7...they appear to have bark shoulder pads and green paint covering them. The girl has a camouflaged dress, and no makeup, surprisingly. I train my eyes on the boy. Okay, brown hair, moderate build, seems pretty unremarkable if you ask me. I barely even bother looking at his name, but do so anyway.

_Name: Tyler Jefferson. Aged 16._

The girl is just as boring as well. Blond hair, green eyes, attractive enough. I can't tell how fit she is, or how well I think she'll do. Bets continue to circulate throughout the VIP box, but I know that the frequency of said bets will only increase after the scores are shown and the interviews are held. That is when we'll get to know these characters, come to like them-or not. Either way, really.

_Name: Bridgette Martin. Aged 17. Volunteered for Dawn Raleigh._

District 7 passes by, here cometh District 8. I chuckle to myself, relaxing a little more. Okay, let's see. They're wearing linen sewed clothes to symbolize the textile industry. Rather plain and simple. The guy seems muscular and has a happy smile on his face as he panders to the crowd. First impressions often lie to my face, of course, so I'm trying not to judge these tributes based on how they look.

_Name: Geoff Stone. Aged 17. _

The girl has...substantial weight, and in my opinion is pretty ugly. Pft. Not even worth my time.

_Name: Sadie Richards. Aged 14._

Hey, binoculars? I don't give a fuck.

Moving on. Boring conversation anyway. Okay, now that boring District 8 has passed by, on to District 9. On to the poorer districts, that is. Hmn. Very interesting...they appear to be wearing golden clothes to symbolize fields of grain. The male tribute is rather tall and looks physically powerful, but looks absolutely miserable. I chuckle to myself...he's not going to get any better.

_Name: Trent Davis. Aged 16._

Okay, the girl is a scowler, repeat, she is a scowler. Heh heh. Yeah, she looks like she wants to fucking murder everybody in the stadium. And with that kind of attitude? She probably could. I'll have to keep an eye on her. I notice that Trent keeps shooting her glances that she seems determined not to return, which does make me wonder...heh heh heh...

_Name: Gwen Lark. Aged 16._

_Panem shall rise above..._

_Panem shall reign above..._

Yeah, above what, exactly?

District 10 rides in, and is quite possibly the stupidest costume choice yet. Cowboys? I mean, seriously? Cowboys? What the hell were their stylists thinking? Did they take too much crack? Poor souls will just get laughed at! The boy is short and skinny, and extremely pale for a kid who works in the livestock district. Pft. Really? No one even bothered to volunteer for the poor kid.

_Name: Ezekiel Miller. Aged 13._

The girl smiles and waves, and is even shorter than Ezekiel over there. Ha! Like she's going to win...fat chance, HA HA HA! I'm so funny. But yeah. District 10 short stubby girl? Nuh uh. No chance whatsoever. Anyone who says otherwise is just deluding themselves and filling her up with false hope.

_Name: Bethany Wilder. Aged 12._

District 11 comes in dressed as farmers. HA! Never seen that one before...it always amuses me to talk to the stylists after the show, ask them what the hell they were thinking WHEN THEY DID THE SAME THING OVER AND OVER. The boy has coffee skin, and is large and muscular. He has a determined look set on his face, and his fists are clenched, not in an angry way, but in a...confident way. Strange that so many non-Careers aren't sniveling and begging for mercy. Hmn.

_Name: Devon Joseph "DJ" Hark. Aged 17. Volunteered for Cameron Wilkins._

Almost there...okay, the girl is darker in skin than he is, and looks just as determined, although in a sassier way than he. And...pft, I don't really have much of an opinion on her. Some of these tributes can be so BOOOORRRRRRIIIINNNGGG. It's like they're trying to be as forgettable as possible so that they can just die and no one will remember them. Mister Devon, maybe not. We'll have to see about him.

_Name: Leshawna Davidson. Aged 18._

Ugh, when will this be over? Okay, District 12. Coal miner costumes! Isn't that wonderful? I place my hand on my chin, grumbling to myself. I'm getting bored sitting on my ass here, should probably get this over with. The girl is...tall. That's something. Her hair seems to be...purple? It doesn't exactly work with miners' clothes. Here's yet another tribute I have to withhold judgment on.

_Name: Sierra McDonald. Aged 17._

The boy seems tense and anxious, scratching his arm. I snicker. Probably the uncomfortable outfit, and being at the center of attention. Heh heh, or not. District 12 is never at the center of attention. He's short and skinny, looks to be the son of a merchant. Probably not going to last very long.

_Name: Cody Anderson. Aged 16._

Finally, the chariots gather around the opening. I train my binoculars on the President. Silence grips the audience.

"You all know the dark times from which Panem rose up from the ashes. These Games are not just a battle of valor. It is a symbol of unity for Panem in these dark times. You twenty-four young people will represent your districts, and I hope you will do so with pride. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

Funny. It's like he's saying that to twenty-four pigs. And he plans on slaughtering twenty-three of him.

One in twenty-four.

The odds are in no-one's favor.

* * *

**As I said, this is a little shorter than usual, but I prefer to map out what is in what chapter, and this just happened to not take as much time. Chris's opinions are the opinions of a bigoted man, so take his thoughts about who is going far with a grain of salt. The next chapter will be training, and a look into the alliances and relationships some of these tributes will form with each other...which should be quite interesting. Apologies if this didn't advance the plot much or do anything, but I feel that a look inside Chris's head is necessary, and it's better to be in depth than just to skim over everything.**

**Ciao.**


	6. Training: Part One

**Hello again! Here we shall have some of the training they're doing...should be quite interesting to see how things work out. This chapter will be full-length and stuff, blah de blah. After I've completed the two chapters on training, then there will be, um...the Gamemaker's thingamajig. Oh, I've gotten rid of the settling in chapter, as sad as it is to say, so yeah, skipping right to training, or more accurately will have the tributes settle in before beginning to train...now I'm just confusing myself. Okay, whatev, let's go!**

* * *

**District 2**

**Alejandro POV**

Ah, the luxury of the Capitol is simply exquisite. Such a shame that my asshole of a brother shares an apartment with me. I lounge comfortably in my seat. Tranquility must prevail over my fear of death. Or more accurately, fear of dying and being forgotten. Cool morning air flows in, and I inhale deeply through my nose, smiling peacefully. Calmness is my ally. The more focused I am, the more charismatic and dangerous I am.

The door opens, and Heather stalks in, hair wet and clothes wrapped loosely around her body. I glance her over, and immediately notice the change. "You cut your hair," I say rather stupidly.

"Gee, I hadn't noticed," she sneers, grabbing a plate of biscuit and bacon and sitting down. "Your brother said that long hair wouldn't help me in the Arena. And I understand that."

I nod, glancing at the clock. I turn back and smile sweetly at her. "It suits you."

She scoffs. "Fuck off."

"Training begins at 10:00 this morning. It is currently 9:15. We are both in the Careers, and therefore will be training together. I cannot just 'fuck off,' my dear."

_"Don't _call me that," she hisses. "I am not your dear, I am not your sweetheart, so just get all that bullshit out of your head. Thank you."

I smirk in her direction. "How do you know I'm not just trying to throw you off your game, make you weaker?"

"Because I'm in the Careers."

I raise both eyebrows, thinking about it. "I suppose," I admit grudgingly. "At least one of us sitting in this room will die, and as heartbroken as I am about the circumstances, I've accepted that."

She rises to her feet, having already finished her meal. "I'm going to dry my hair and get dressed," she says coldly.

Five minutes later, she's back, and I beckon her out the door. The underground training center...should be interesting. I've only ever heard my brother's description. Should be interesting to see. When we arrive, some of the other tributes are already there, despite there still being fifteen minutes left before the training begins. I spot the rest of the Careers, and I turn on my charming smile.

"Good morning!" I grin, and the four other Careers turn to me. "It's a pleasure to meet you! My name is Alejandro Burromuerto, and this is Heather Chandler. Might I ask your names?"

The closest tribute is a blond girl with a large busy. "Hi Alejandro Burrito! I'm Lindsay. I'm the District 1 tribute!"

I hear a snicker from the thuggish boy from District 4. I pay it no attention. "Well, good day to you, Lindsay. And the rest of you?"

"Justin," a well-muscled, tanned boy from District 1 sighs. "I really don't want to be here. I've always wanted to die beautiful, not with blood."

Fantastic. A pretty boy and a dumb blonde. This team is shaping up, all right. I hide my dissatisfaction with a handshake. The thuggish boy from District 4 spits on the ground, as if that makes him cool or something.

"Duncan. I'm from District 4."

"Well, I can tell that you'll be a great ally to us, my friend," I say in my best smooth-talking voice, to which Duncan rolls his eyes. And the girl next to him...wow. She glares at me.

"Eva."

She doesn't say anything more. It's quiet for a few seconds before I attempt to compliment her. "I can tell that-"

"Shut it."

With a gracious bow, I shut my mouth. Heather snickers. "Looks like someone isn't interested in hearing your pretty talk."

"I thought pretty talk was was my job," Justin whines. "I'm the pretty one around here! Oh, and Lindsay too."

"Yay!"

I can feel my facial muscles tense slightly, and I tuck my hands behind my back and cross my fingers. "Don't worry!" I say comfortingly, trying to compose my facial features into something . "I'm sure we'll be VERY good friends! You'll see!"

"You don't understand, do you. Woe is meeeeeeee," he groans, and my finger cross behind my back turns into a raised middle finger. Only Heather can see, and she knows better than to ruin our relationships with our fellow Careers. Let us see...are there any other tributes here? Any that are any good? Hmn, doesn't appear to be anyone else here just yet.

"So." Duncan yawns. "Who's leader?"

"I am," Heather, Justin and I say at the exact same time. Heather and I train our gazes on Justin, while Lindsay is completely oblivious. Duncan snickers, and Eva's expression doesn't change.

"Do we really need to have a leader?" Lindsay asks.

"Yes," Heather says, sounding slightly exasperated. "That's the way it works."

"Well, I should be leader because I'd get the most sponsors," Justin explains in a falsely smug manner. It's all I can do to not lop his head off right here and now...idiot really grates on my nerves.

"Why don't we vote?" Lindsay suggests, and we turn to her, about to reprimand her, but realize that that would probably be the best decision. The times that a non-Career has won have been the times where there was infighting in the Careers.

"Excellent idea Lindsay!" I grin, trying to make her feel good so she'll vote for me.

"But there's three people wanting to be in charge, and three people who don't," Justin says in that really...obnoxious...voice...grrr...

_You won't get any votes, pretty boy, no matter how hard you try._

"We'll work something out," I say comfortingly. "All right, I'll go first. I am the brother of...*retch* esteemed victor, Jose Burromuerto, who is my mentor. I know people's strengths and weaknesses better than they do, and I won't hesitate to kill anyone who gets in my way."

Heather scoffs. "Whatev. I don't have a famous relative, but what I do have are knives, and ruthlessness. I will do whatever it takes to get what I want, and I will NOT tolerate ANY disobedience from ANY of you. Got it?"

Justin sighs. "I can get us loads of sponsors and I have a great strategic mind," he says, batting his eyelashes towards Lindsay, who giggles.

"Vote?" I ask, making a mental note to skewer Justin first thing in the Arena if he becomes leader.

"Heather," Duncan yawns.

"Alejandro," Eva monotones.

"Justin! No, Heather! No, Alejandro! I can't decide," Lindsay giggles.

"Just choose one," I say, taking a patient tone with her.

"Okay...Alejandro, then."

I bow to them. "The votes have spoken. I'm in control now." I smirk.

"I'm sure we'll be very good friends."

* * *

**District 5**

**Courtney POV**

Okay, time for training...calm down, everything's going to be fine. This is a strategic moment, where alliances will be formed and enemies made. I need to show the Careers that I'm useful. Noah and I walk down to the training hall. I haven't said a word to him since the train, because I know that he'll just end up making one of his fucking sarcastic comments that'll make me lose my calm. He's seemed fine with it. The two of us enter the room to find that the other twenty-two tributes are already here. I attempt to isolate each one.

The Careers sit in a pack. The male tributes are all hunks, and so is one of the female tributes. The girl from 2 looks positively nasty, and the girl from 1 just kind of wanders around aimlessly, looking wide-eyed and innocent. I sit down next to a short boy with brown hair and an intelligent look in his eye.

"Hi, my name is Courtney? How are you?" Dammit, Courtney, this is a life or death situation! Not high school!

He rubs his arm nervously. "Um...I'm...fine...I'm Cody."

I smile politely. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

A grating voice belonging to Noah butts in on our conversation. "Hey, Courtney, better watch out, you're making some enemies already. Your strategy is working _so _well, by the way. I'm sure everyone in the room heard your voice. Keep it up, honey."

I turn to him furiously. "What do you mean? We were getting along fine-" The sarcastic asshole points behind me, an amused look on his face, and I turn to see a furious face of a towering tanned girl with purple hair.

"You stay away from him, or I'll find you in the Games, beat you to a pulp, drag your unconscious body and hold your head underwater until you lose consciousness and then cut your throat open and hold it in so you can bleed out slowly until you die." I cower slightly, freaked out, and I hear Noah laughing hysterically, banging his fist on the table.

"Um...Sierra, was it?"

"STAY AWAY FROM CODY!"

"Okay, okay!" I quickly turn and run, ignoring Noah's laughter. I sit down next to a normal-looking girl with blond hair and green eyes. We don't talk.

One of the trainers walks up in front of us and begins addressing us. "For the next three days, you twenty-four will train here for the Arena. Training will go from 10:00 to 12:00, after which you will eat with your fellow tributes. I advise caution, and not just to head to the weapon stations. Hypothermia is more deadly than a sword will ever be. Good luck."

The Careers quickly get up and take over the weapons stations. The girl from 2 throws knife after knife after knife and hits the bulls-eye every time. The girl from 4 disembowels five training holograms in a row, and the boy from 2, Alejandro, I believe, watches everything with a satisfied smirk on his face. I move over to the javelin throwing range. One other person is there. I don't recognize him. He picks up a javelin and throws it, and it falls to the floor five feet in front of him.

"Excuse me? What's your name?" I ask the boy.

"Oh, my name's Tyler. Sorry, I'll move." He steps out of the way, and I pick up a javelin, testing it in my hands before throwing it. It hits the hologram in the abdomen, causing it to crumple. I pick up the second javelin and finish the job. I repeat the process several more times, just to get it down, and I smile, placing my hands on my hips proudly.

"Excuse me, Princess. Coming through." The boy from 4 stands behind me with his arms folded, an indiscernible expression on his face.

"Ah, what was your name, Duncan?"

"That's right," he sneers. "Glad you could remember. Pft. You have some skill with those javelins. Might even get you into the Careers...if you're interested."

I try not to let my excitement show. All part of the plan..."Um...don't you have six people already? Why do you need me?"

He jerks his thumb at the girl from 1, who has been sitting at the fire-making station this whole time and hasn't managed to make even a spark. "I see..." I say, excitement rising in my voice.

"You can count me in. Tell whoever is in charge that you have me to replace her, okay?"

He nods. "Thanks, Princess. I'll tell him."

I move to the edible plants station, where the girl I was sitting next to and the large, broad-shouldered boy from 11 sit, testing their skills. I start learning. I can't just rely on the Careers. After all, I plan to betray them at some point.

Okay.

I can win this.

* * *

**District 12**

**Cody POV**

I finish tying the knot, grinning at my handiwork. The trainer is very impressed. Finally, something I'm good at! I guess tying all those knots out of boredom back at home paid off in the end! I grin, and hear a battle shriek from the obstacle course next door. Sierra charges through, dodging everything they throw at her and makes it through, breathing heavily. I walk over to her.

"How're you doing?" I ask uncomfortably. She's been...very...protective of me lately. That polite girl who'd introduced herself to me didn't deserve to be threatened with drowning and a slit throat.

"I'm fine, Cody," she says weakly. "Do...do you want to be in an alliance?"

"Um, an alliance?" I ask nervously. "I...let me think for a moment, okay?" Okay...an alliance with Sierra, my stalker. My super strong, super athletic stalker, who would protect me at any cost...I would provide the plans, she would carry them out. It sounds good to me, I suppose...I'm just not sure how long I can be around her without her going crazy...

"Sure! That sounds like a great idea?" I smile for her sake, making sure to accentuate the gap in my teeth. She smiles, still breathing heavily.

"Thank you."

"But, um, do you think we could get someone else too?"

"Who were you thinking?"

I pan my eyes around the room. The boy from 5 is just sitting in between stations, yawning and looking extremely comfortable and relaxed. He's not even bothering to train? Okay...there's a really hot girl, I think from District 9 who is learning how to hunt animals. But I don't think Sierra would approve. And when Sierra doesn't approve...yeah. Everyone knows what happens. There's the Careers. Yeah. No. There's a tall and skinny ginger-haired boy with glasses. Ha ha. No. I glance around, trying to find somebody...I can't.

"I guess nobody," I admit. "Okay. We're good for an alliance. I'll make the plans, you carry them out."

"Sounds good," she says, sounding strangely subdued. Neither of us want to think about the eventual result. District 12's tributes generally die first in the bloodbaths, because they have no strategy. None whatsoever. Run out and die. Great final stand, people.

"Okay, what should we learn?" I ask. "There's plenty to try, after all."

"How about knives? In case you need to protect yourself and I'm...um, not there."

I nod, smiling. "Great idea! Let's go!" At the knife station, the District 2 girl has just finished practicing. The boy from 10, Ezekiel, I think, is fumbling around with his, and very nearly cuts himself open. His hands are shaking too bad for him to do anything to improve his technique.

"Here. Just calm yourself." I still his wrists, and he calms down a bit. "There. Better?"

He nods. "Um, thanks. I'm Ezekiel."

"Cody."

"Eh hem." Sierra glares at me pointedly. I nod and smile in Ezekiel's direction. "Right. Sorry. Good luck to you." I turn and pick up a knife of my own. I could never throw these. I'd just have to use them in self-defense. I have to be smart about this. I don't have the build to carry myself in a fight. I'll have to rely on my wits and snares in order to win. And Sierra. Poor Sierra...she really wants me to win. I guess she does care about me...eek.

After I've finished with the knife course, I sit down and take a break, wiping sweat from my brow. Sierra sits down next to me, eyes narrowed at anyone who walks by. Ezekiel and the girl from his District, Beth, I think it was, walk by, and Beth asks something about why the purple-haired girl looked ready to kill her. Ezekiel whispers something indistinguishable in response.

"Why are you trying to help me win?"

Sierra looks startled for a moment, and takes a few seconds to reply. She sighs. "I feel like you're a better person than I am, and that I'd prefer for you to win than me to win and you die."

My heart sinks, and my eyes begin to water. "For what it's worth...thank you. I'm sorry it had to be this way." I leave it at that, and decide to leave out the part that I never really liked her in that manner. It would only depress her and make her miserable. And, as self-centered and arrogant as it pains me to think about, I'd be out of an alliance partner. But yeah, I don't know.

She hugs me, and I can feel her tears on my shoulder...or maybe it's her sweat. Maybe it's both. But it's clear she's grateful for my attitude, and it pains me to know that at least one of us is going home in a coffin. But I'm not going to be like those previous tributes, rushing blindly into the Cornucopia. I need to be smart, and hopefully, I might become the first District 12 victor. Or Sierra, if I die before her...man, it just feels so freaking surreal to me.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

* * *

**District 3**

**Izzy POV**

I clench my fist in triumph. Perfect score on the obstacle course! Heck yeah! Awesome! Okay, now that that's out of the way, what else is there? The Careers dominate the weapon training, and I already know what plants are edible and what aren't, what else is there to do? Hmn...decisions decisions...Ooh! There's hunting! I should try that, a food source is important after all. HA! Let's do this! Walking is for boring people, so I decide to sprint across the hall, knocking down Tyler from District 7.

"Sorry!"

I cackle as I arrive at the animal hunting station. Taking a bow and arrow, I silently stalk the animal hologram, until BAM! BLAMMO! DEAD HOLOGRAM! WOO! I rule! That blond dude from District 8 is here as well, but he's not doing near as well as I am! Ha ha, they won't know what hit them! I kill three more holographic animals before calling it quits. Oh, not final quits, just for this thingy, the station thingamajig thingamabobber, you know what I mean? No? Okay, that works for me. Cool.

Hmn. How about my strategy for the Games? I need to find someone with smarts. I mean, I'm smart, _really _smart, but I can't plan anything. I need a planner, someone who can come up with rational ideas. Oh, and then there's my physically strong ally, heh heh heh, I've already got _that _one taken care of, if you know what I mean? No? You don't? Okay, that works for me. Cool. Ha ha, I already said that! Wait, why am I thinking about that right now? How strange.

...I love my train of thought.

Okay, there was that girl from District 5, Courtney. I was spying on her as she mouthed her plan to herself when she thought she was alone. Something about joining the Careers then backstabbing them? I am an excellent lip reader. Ha ha, not trustworthy, although she definitely is a planner. Just not a trustworthy kind of planner.

Okay, I've already ruled Harold out because that would hurt too much when or if he dies. I would never associate with Careers, and the tributes from District 10 and 12 look pretty wimpy if you ask me. My eyes are drawn to the dude from District 5 who is just sitting on his lazy bum. He seems pretty sure of himself. He's trying to make a statement by not training with anyone. Maybe he wants the lack of participation to be noticed. Maybe he wants to be viewed as unpredictable. A wild card! Eh, he seems pretty much the opposite of wild.

Only one way to find out, right?

"Hey lazy dude!"

I bound over to him, and he looks at me, unimpressed. "Morning," he deadpans.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Relaxing. Not worrying about anything." Well, he certainly seems confident.

"That's your strategy? To not have a strategy?"

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. I analyzed all twenty-two prior Hunger Games. In sixteen of them, the outcome was less attributed to strategy as it was dumb luck."

"Wow, really?"

"No. That's exactly why I just told you that. Because it was a lie. And it makes perfect sense."

"Well, shame on you for lying to me." I grin cheekily.

"...is there something you want?" He looks mildly annoyed, but not necessarily out of the picture for an alliance thingamajig.

I snap my fingers in phony remembrance. "Oh! Yeah!" I lean in. "I was thinking about forming an alliance," I whisper.

He sighs. "Oh really? Well, you picked the wrong person, it seems. The only person who's _not _trying, and that's the one you want to form an alliance with."

I clap my hands together. "Okay, let me think about what your _real _strategy is. You're trying to give off the impression that you're capable enough that you don't even need to worry about training, so that someone who does have the qualities you don't have, like maybe strength, will make an alliance with you so you can have a mutually beneficial alliance that will get you far in the game."

He looks speechless for once. That's the first time I've seen that expression on his face. "That was...actually rather impressive." He leans back even more, crossing his legs. "Okay. What do you have to offer?"

"Did you see me do the obstacle course?"

"Yes, actually. I've been paying a lot more attention to the other tributes than I've let on." He smirks. "Courtney, the girl from my district, thinks I have no strategy. That's just what I want her to think. And I must say that I rather enjoy pissing her off."

I laugh. "Okay. So those are your two major talents? Being smart and pissing people off?"

"Honey, that's going to be my epitaph." He looks very proud of the fact.

I cackle. "Okay. I'm Izzy."

"I don't really care." He conceals a yawn with his fingers, as if to illustrate how much he doesn't really care.

"Rude. What's your name?"

"Noah. And I still have no reason to have you in an alliance. True, you deduced my reasoning for sitting out, or the one that doesn't account for me being lazy, and you did well on the obstacle course. But why should I trust you? You seem to have some degree of physical strength, but in an extended confrontation we'd both be dead. How are you going to account for that, exactly?"

My grin widens, because I knew he would ask that question. "Because I have a third alliance member."

"And here I thought I was the special one," he deadpans. "Who, exactly?"

I tell him. But I'm not going to tell you. Mwa ha ha. I'm so evil.

* * *

**District 11**

**Leshawna POV**

I finish the obstacle course right as the boy from District 3 does, which is interesting because he'd started four minutes before I'd even gone in there. I wipe sweat from my brow, but he is breathing heavily and wheezing and shit. He falls onto his knees, clutching his chest.

"Ya need help at all?" I ask, concern entering my voice. Even though I'm dead set on winning and won't let anything stop me, I still feel the need to help other people. But man, sometimes I feel like I'm too selfish, especially when I mentally compare myself to DJ. Speaking of which, he seems to be over at the edible plants and insects section, looking very calm and tranquil. I wish I could face death like he does...but I'm just a selfish, cowardly, sassy brat. Maybe I'm being too harsh. Maybe I'm not.

"No...no...I'm fine," he says, and proceeds to keel over and start coughing again. "Just...having...breathing...problems..."

"Hey, we need some help over here!" I call, and two of those Avoxes come over and help him to his feet. He continues coughing and wheezing, and one of the Avoxes, an overweight African American boy slings him over his shoulder and carry him out. The boy from 4 laughs his head off at this and I turn furiously to him.

"Suuuuure, real hilarious, let's laugh at the kid with asthma." I get up in his face and I feel something pressed into the back of my throat. Something metal.

"Madam, kindly step away from my teammate," a soft, silky voice says, and the boy from 4 smirks at me, crossing his arms. "I apologize for his unsportsmanlike behavior, and he shall be reprimanded. Kindly step away."

Growling, I push the boy from behind me out of the way, and stalk off. Fucking Careers. I'm about to head over to a survival course when a voice rings out from the room.

"That's enough for today! I hope you all used your time wisely. You will now eat lunch with the other tributes, and then you will return to your quarters. I wish you all good luck, and I'm not going to tell you that the odds are in your favor. They aren't, but one of you has to win. See you tomorrow."

The tributes file out. The boy from 4 pushes me aside as he walks by, laughing as he does so. I flp him off, and grab some food. There's an open spot near a girl with her hand on her chin and a scowl on her face. I think she was from District 9, though I could be wrong about that.

"Excuse me, can I sit here?" I ask tentatively.

She sighs. "Sure. Why the hell not."

I sit down and start eating. "You gonna eat, or are ya just going to sit there and kill everyone with your eyes?"

"I'd like to do the latter, yeah. But it's not going to happen."

I laugh a little bit. "My name's Leshawna. I'm from District 11."

"Gwen. District 9."

We shake hands. "Nice to meet ya. What have you been doing with the whole training thing?"

She sighs again. "Well, I worked with some of the weapons and then went to the camouflage station. I feel like I did a pretty good job at it, but not good enough. The Careers still have years of training under their belts. I don't see how I could win this. What did you do?"

I clear my throat before responding. "I did some combat training and an obstacle course. I'll probably work on survival skills tomorrow."

She nods. "Seems like a good idea. If you don't mind me asking, what are you good at?"

I look a little bit uncomfortable. "Is this to know my weaknesses? Cause if that's the case-"

"No, no! I'm just...trying to find an alliance member."

"Oh. Yeah, I'm good at fighting close-quarters and thinking instinctively."

She smiles, the first I've seen. "Well, I'm good at long range and finding food and shelter. Could we form an alliance?"

"Sure, why the hell not?" I laugh slightly. We start talking about it, but in the middle of our conversation I hear laughing from the Career table. The boy from 4 is strutting in place, hands on his hips and is telling off an invisible person. Even from this distance, I can tell that they're mocking me! Me! Do I really walk like that! The Careers' laughter fills the air, and I growl.

"Hey. You okay?" My new friend puts her hand on my shoulder.

"Urgh, it's just _them._ I should probably not get involved. They'd just go crying to the authorities that big mean scary Leshawna threatened to gut them."

She laughs despite herself. "Good idea."

I finish eating and wipe my mouth with my sleeve. "Well, nice meeting ya. Hope we can find each other in the Arena."

"Shouldn't we, you know, keep our alliances secret? If the Careers find out..."

"Yeah, good idea," I say approvingly. "Okay, I'm done for now. I'll see ya around, okay?"

"Thanks, Leshawna," Gwen says, smiling warmly. I guess she can be nice when she chooses to be. I ignore the laughter of the Careers, and exit the room. I bump into a boy with black hair and a miserable look on his face.

"Sorry," he mutters, and walks past me. I turn and look at him. Where was he? Why wasn't he in the training station? Odd. Oh well. I shouldn't worry myself about it. No point really. It'll be interesting to see how things pan out, at any rate.

* * *

**District 6**

**Katie POV**

I sit on my own, which is pretty unusual for me. Back at District 6 I chatted with all the popular girls about cute boys and the like. But now no one seems to even notice or care about me, except for Owen. But he's currently stuffing himself with food in a contest with the male tribute from District 8, Jeff, I think it was? Or is it spelled Geoff? I don't know, I guess I shouldn't be so concerned about the other tributes' names. It just feels so weird to me that all but one of us sitting in this room are going to die...I feel pretty miserable, yeah, but I'm past the crying phase.

I pick at my food, bored and feeling disconnected. Like, terribly disconnected. All this fancy stuff feels weird to me, like I'm being prepared for a feast but I'm the meal...man, that was pretty deep! Ha! I'm not totally shallow after all, not like Jerry Mortimer told me back in fifth grade...why am I thinking about this? Do I need something non-depressing to think about? I guess that makes sense, it takes my mind off of my coming death.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" A chubby girl stands behind me who I think is from District 7, no, District 8, no, agh, I don't know where she's from, but she looks nice enough. I smile warmly.

"Sure!" I say in a chipper manner. "I don't see why not!"

"Thank you!" she giggles, and sits down next to me and starts eating.

"Hi!" I wave to her. "My name's Katie. I'm from District 6. You?"

"Oh, my name's Sadie. I'm from District 8."

"Wow, our names rhyme!" I giggle. It's random, but it takes my mind off the whole death and destruction scenario thing.

"Yeah! That's pretty cool! What's it like in District 6?"

"Um..." I look around nervously. "Are we allowed to say? I thought they didn't like us knowing what the other districts are like."

"What are they going to do, kill us?"

"Fair point." I smile. "How'd you do in the training?"

"I did camouflage the whole time trying to get it right. In the end I finally did it! But I didn't have time for anything else." Sadie casts her eyes downward.

In order to keep her spirits up, I start talking. "Oh, well, I did some hunting practice and practice with a sword. I was terrible with the sword, but it didn't hurt me to try. I also tried some snares, was decent at that."

"You had so much better luck than I did," she smiles sweetly. "I mean, I spent the entire time on one station and you did three! That's pretty impressive. Oh, and you didn't answer my question about the districts."

I shrug. "There's not really much to say. We make the Capitol's transportation. The Peacekeepers are pretty strict, but if you don't get on their bad sides you're fine. School's fun when we're not learning about how Panem saved us from total destruction...you know, that kind of thing."

She nods, understanding completely. "Yeah. In District 8, we make textiles and clothing and stuff, but we don't get that clothing. My mom talks about all this fancy stuff they make for the Capitol. I saw some of those outfits when I arrived in the Capitol. It was a weird feeling, ya know?"

I nod. "I don't really know, but I can see how that would be weird. What are the Peacekeepers like?"

"Strict as ever." She shrugs. "I was talking with DJ, he's from District 11 and he's the sweetest guy! He volunteered for this tiny kid who would have died first, and he talked about how whippings and beatings happen like ten times every day."

"Wow..." I try to rack my brain. "He's in agriculture, right?"

"Yeah...that's what District 11 is," she says, sounding a little bit irritated, but quickly recovers. "But yeah! You seem pretty cool." She leans in and whispers to me. "Alliance?" She sounds a little bit...desperate. Maybe because she's...big boned she feels like she needs an alliance in order to survive.

I nod to her, and she squeals in happiness. I shoot a warning glare at her, and she quiets. With the two of us, we should be able to get far...I try not to think about what will happen after that.

Lunch ends, and all twenty-four tributes quickly get up and rush out. The Careers are chatting and laughing loudly, while most of the rest are pretty subdued or normal. Sadie and I quickly exit before the Careers try to go through the door all at once, and I can hear their pushing and shoving from here. Sadie and I wave goodbye to each other and Owen rejoins me as we walk back to our quarters. I sigh. How useful will Sadie be? That's the question. Well, I guess we'll find out tomorrow.

After the door to our quarters opens, I slump gratefully in an armchair, and close my eyes.

I do not go to sleep.

* * *

**Wow, this only took me two days to write! That's a new record. I feel like I have a better grasp of some of the characters now that they're interacting with other people apart from their districts. Oh, and I'm actually seriously considering creating epitaphs for each of the characters after they die. Would probably lessen the emotional impact, but it would be funny. I'm going to post a poll on my profile asking which characters you think are going to die in the Cornucopia bloodbath. I can confirm that there will be eight total deaths on the first day. So, in case you all have forgotten, here is the tribute list:**

**District 1:**

Justin

Lindsay

**District 2:**

Alejandro

Heather

**District 3:**

Harold

Izzy

**District 4:**

Duncan

Eva

**District 5:**

Noah

Courtney

**District 6:**

Owen

Katie

**District 7:**

Tyler

Bridgette

**District 8:**

Geoff

Sadie

**District 9:**

Trent

Gwen

**District 10:**

Ezekiel

Beth

**District 11:**

DJ

Leshawna

**District 12:**

Cody

Sierra

**Ciao.**


	7. Training: Part Two

**Oh, I forgot to put this in the previous chapter. Yes, B is an avox. I found it fitting. Nice to see that people have voted on the poll. I was interested at some of the results, and if you haven't done do so now. I like seeing my readers' speculations. At the time of writing this, the only characters without any votes are Izzy, Noah, Leshawna, and Duncan. Curious. Oh, and some of the Careers are hypocrites, as you'll see in this chapter.**

* * *

**District 1**

**Justin POV**

I hate the mornings. So freaking much. So hard to get up, my hair is all messy, and my eyes look terrible because they're so tired. My skin looks terrible too. God, it takes so long for me to get moving, and it's so hard to look good while doing so.

I groan. I need my beauty sleep, otherwise I look hideous. I'm sure the people in the Capitol understand that, after all. Yet my fellow Careers with the exception of Lindsay seem to look down upon me. It's strange. They don't explicitly _say _they dislike me-I don't see how they could dislike me, of course. But that Alejandro seems to talk down to me, like he's better than I am. Ha! Him, better than me? He's got _nothing _on me. NOTHING, I tell you.

So he got two votes out of three? Who the hell cares? He acted so superior to me, like he was better in every possible way? Did _he _have girls swooning over him when we were in the parade? No? I didn't think so. I'm going to stab him in the back before he can do any damage. Then the others will respect me enough to allow me as their leader, and using a combination of the Cornucopia's goods, and my sponsors, we will dominate. Then I'll stab everyone else in the back and come home as the victor!

Sounds like a plan. Pft. I don't really care for any of them. Not even Lindsay. And apparently, according to Duncan, we've got one more ally, the girl from 5, Courtney. The unspoken implication is that she is going to be Lindsay's replacement. Heather is a skinny bitch with attitude problems, Duncan is an asshole, and Eva scares the shit out of me. I haven't spoken to Courtney at all, so I wouldn't know anything about her. And I've already made my thoughts on Alejandro quite clear. What a self-centered asshole.

Breakfast is over, and 10:00 comes around. Lindsay and I walk down to the Training Center. Lindsay is chatting about some fashion design she saw one of the Capitol people wearing, and it's all I can do to keep a faux-polite smile on my face. I'm not going to have to deal with her for much longer. Everything's going to be okay...I can win this...I'm handsome, talented, and charismatic. I think I've got this in the bag. Yep! I smirk to myself.

The two of us walk into the training room for the second time, and we sit down next to the Careers. Alejandro flashes his obviously fake charming smile in our direction.

"Ah, friends. Glad you could make it." Lindsay giggles. I scowl at him.

"Yeah, whatever," I retort.

Eva rolls her eyes. "You had your chance to be leader, Justin. I guess you weren't convincing enough."

"I swear, if you just give me a chance, I'll be a much better leader then Alejandro could ever be!"

Duncan coughs something that sounds suspiciously like "Horseshit," and I hiss through my teeth at him.

"Oh, come on guys!" Lindsay says cheerfully. "I'm sure he'd be a good leader, but Alejandro won fair and square! Oh, but Candace didn't vote! You weren't here yet! Sorry Candace!"

The girl from 5, Courtney, I believe, looks baffled. "My name is Courtney. And judging from what I've seen, I would vote for Alejandro."

Alejandro bows sardonically in my direction. "The votes have spoken, my friend. Just like they spoke yesterday. And even if Courtney had voted for you, it would have been a tie between me and you. Which means we would have had to have a tiebreaker. But that is besides the point. I won. I'm in charge."

I growl. "If you say so, Al."

_"Don't _call me that."

"I'm sorry, Al? Al, I couldn't hear you. Could you speak up, Al?" His eye twitches, and Heather shoots me a warning glare, but what could possibly go wrong? He can't hurt me. Until the Games begin, I'm invulnerable. I allow myself to look a little smug about the fact.

"Do you have a death wish or something?" Eva asks rhetorically, and Duncan looks like he's really enjoying the drama unfolding between us.

"Justin, I respect you as a teammate and all, but I would advise you to be quiet now," he says softly. His voice is _quieter _now? Ha ha! Wimp! What kind of person gets quieter when they get angrier?

"I'm sorry, you're talking too quiet now, Al. My beautiful ears can't hear everything, you know."

I grin at him. He can't touch me. That would be breaking the rules. Alejandro sighs, and stands up, a tranquil expression on his face.

A split second later, my mouth lets out an involuntary retch as he clutches one hand on my throat. Alejandro leans close to me and whispers in my ear.

_"You call me that one more time, I'll bruise your so-called beautiful face until it looks like you were born a muttation," _he whispers gleefully. I gulp, and nod to the best of my ability. With a polite smile, he lets go and falls back into his seat. I cough violently, and Duncan laughs. Eva actually smiles a little bit, and Courtney still looks unsure of herself. Face flaming red, I clench my fists and attempt to calm myself.

I'll kill him soon enough.

* * *

**District 4**

**Duncan POV**

I must say, the Capitol, the Careers, all of it are a lot more entertaining than I thought it would be! So much drama, so much hatred...that Justin guy is a riot. Him and Al...man, that's going to be interesting once we get into the Arena. The new girl Courtney is interesting too. She has some survival skills, that's for sure. Some combat skills as well. She'll be a valuable ally if and when Lindsay gets herself killed first thing.

Alejandro and Heather...they either hate each other or love each other. Or both, really. Why decide between one of them? Justin can go fuck himself. I'm certain he's already tried. Arrogant, narcissistic prick. I smirk as I watch him attempt to use an axe, and throw his shoulder out. Complaining all the way. Man, the thing about these tributes is that they're just so easy to make fun of! Maybe I'm just trying to get my mind off my own insecurities by being a bully, but it works.

I don't even need to learn survival skills. As long as we control the Cornucopia, we've got it in the clear. So why bother? Hmn, maybe I'm being a bit short-sighted here. In the long run, it would be arrogant to assume that I'd have the Cornucopia at my disposal through the entire game. I start walking towards the survival stations. That one dorky-looking guy with a thin frame and long, gangly arms gets in my way at the fire-starting station. District 3, I believe. Harold, was it?

"Out of my way, dweeb," I growl at him, grabbing his arm and yanking him out of the way. He lets out a startled yell, and suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my leg, and I stumble. He kicked me! The fucking asshole kicked me! How dare he? I seethe at him, and draw my fist back.

"Whoa! That's enough, dudes!"

The boy from eight, Geoff, I believe, grabs my arm, and I snarl, trying to break free. "We shouldn't be fighting each other this early. Just chill."

"Tell that to him! He started the fight!"

Harold clears his throat. "Actually, you roughly jerked me out of the way, so technically you started the-"

"Nobody cares! Geoff, let me go so I can beat his face in!"

"Dude, you might want to rethink that," Geoff says, and he points behind me. A lot of the other tributes have stopped and are looking in our direction, confused by the sudden noise. I roughly shove Harold to the ground, trying to calm myself.

"Excuse me? Geoff, was it?" Oh great, Alejandro's here. He graciously helps Harold to his feet and turns to me and Geoff. "I'm terribly sorry about Duncan's behavior. I assure you, it won't happen again. Dear me, I've been having to make a lot of apologies lately. Alas, it isn't my fault, of course."

He shoots me a pointed glance.

"That's cool," Geoff says. "But getting into a fight here? Not cool. Especially when you're fighting someone like..." He struggles to find a flattering word for the assclown. "Harold."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Just don't get in my way." I turn and walk away. I hear Harold coughing some, and I content myself with the satisfaction of knowing that I can kill all of these people when I get the chance. And oh boy, am I looking forward to that chance.

"Having some trouble controlling your temper, Duncan?"

Little Miss Courtney walks up next to me as I arrive at the plant station. Fucking boring concept, but it's apparently important, so I might as well. I clench my fists. "You can say that. That Harold gets on my nerves."

"You can kill him in the Games. Don't blow your cool now. I would've thought that Eva would have blown up by now, but she seems content to just sulk around, not offering any input."

"Say, don't you want you being in the Careers to be a surprise?" I ask condescendingly, really hoping for this girl to fuck off. Or fuck with. Either way is fine with me.

"Yeah," she says, as if that thought was obvious.

"Then why are you here?"

She looks flustered. "Well, there's no one else at this station, so I thought-"

I jerk my thumb to her right, where the boy from her district is sitting in the middle, doing nothing, just like yesterday. He flashes a sardonic and rather feminine wave to Courtney, and her face glows red with rage. "You little..." She grabs me and slams me against the wall.

"Hey, how is this my fault?" I ask, playing the innocent.

"You let him know we were here," she hisses in my ear. "He probably didn't notice or didn't care."

"Well, you're certainly not making things any better with the position you have me in right now," I snark. "Gonna make out with me? I'd rather enjoy that."

She draws me close to her. Our faces are only a few inches apart. Then she slams me back into the wall again. "Not. Going to. Happen." she says calmly, and lets go, walking away and leaving me to my own thoughts and an innocent whistle from the trainer at the station who had watched everything.

"Shut up," I tell him, and start trying to learn how to tell what plants are poisonous and what aren't.

I kind of wish I could tell which tributes are poisonous or not. But sadly, there seems to be no station for that.

* * *

**District 7**

**Bridgette POV**

Calm. Peaceful. Tranquil. I cannot allow myself to hate these other tributes. They are just as much victims as I am. But...some of those Careers are making it so. Hard. That boy Duncan? A bully and a coward. Picking on Harold, a tribute maybe half his weight and three times the health problems? Not cool, and definitely not endearing in the slightest. It seems as though these Games are bringing out the worst in people...I mean, I scarcely had a negative thought about anyone before now. But now seeing all these jerkasses and pricks really is starting to get to me.

Okay, Bridgette. Just calm down. Don't sink to their level. I need to be noble. I need to show that I am my own person, not the Capitol's pawn. And that means to treat the other tributes with kindness and respect, no matter how infuriating they might be. I won't become a killer just for the Capitol. I must not become a killer at all. I don't want to become...a monster. I'm not going to win this. No tribute in twenty-two years has ever won the Games without killing somebody. But I can break that streak, right? Right?

I sigh. I've spent the first day of training and thirty minutes of the second day of training at the survival stations. I've learned how to make fire, how to swim, how to hunt (only if necessary). I already knew a lot of what berries are edible or not before even coming here. Okay...what else do I need? I don't want to resort to physical violence. But it could be necessary...but I don't want to kill anybody. Okay. I'll go over to the weapon training now. But only for self-defense. That will be all I use these weapons for.

The girls from 6 and 8 are at the archery section, chatting away about who knows what. It both delights me and saddens me that at least some of these people have become friends, especially knowing the end result. I mentally smack myself. We can change the end result. We can still show our defiance. And I can't be sad now. I need to show them that I am not afraid. That they don't own me. That I will not have died in vain.

I pick up a sword, testing the balance. One Career is at the station, the girl from 4, Eva. She moves like a whirlwind, slicing apart hologram after hologram after hologram, no pity or remorse, just a blank, professional stare on her face. One of them tries to get the jump on her and she smashes her fist into it, disintegrating the figure. All in the space of twenty seconds. She brushes herself off, and hangs her sword up, roughly brushing past me. I pick up a sword, taking a deep breath. Okay. I can do this.

I swing my sword horizontally at a charging hologram, wincing as it is sliced in half. "Is there anything just for defensive techniques?" I ask the instructor, and she nods. The holograms now wield swords, and attack me. I block, and a mechanism in the sword mimes the feeling I'd get if I'd clashed blades with another sword. I block another, and kick one of the holograms in the knee, and continue using defense until finally the holograms get past it and skewer me. Okay. I could probably hold off a real opponent long enough to escape.

I place the sword back up. Okay. I'm good for now. That's enough weapon training. "You having trouble with using weapons too?" The voice comes from behind me, and I turn. The boy from 11 stands there, looking unsure of himself. I nod in response.

"Yeah. I don't believe in violence. I'm only at this station for self-defense."

He nods. "Yeah. I'm DJ. I...don't like violence either...but I have a big build from working back at District 11, so I think I should be good for the most part."

I laugh. "Bridgette. I'm from District 7."

We shake hands. "Yeah. I volunteered for this kid from my District. Probably didn't even weigh a hundred pounds. He would have been dead." He sniffles a little bit.

I smile reassuringly. "That's interesting. I volunteered too. I did it for my best friend. We were planning to start some form of rebellion in the future. Peaceful, of course."

He smiles back. "That's noble. I guess we both gave up our lives to save someone else."

"Hey! We're not out of the count just yet!"

He shrugs. "We kind of are. Most of the victors have come from the Careers. They've got all those scary people who could kill a person in the blink of an eye. It's frightening."

"Don't be scared of them. They're just as much pawns as we are."

"True...but they're a bunch of cowards and bullies. Apart from that girl from 1, Lindsay. She's just a little..." He twirls his finger around his ear.

I laugh again. "I wouldn't say that. She seemed really sweet when I talked to her. She doesn't belong in the Games. I do wonder why no one volunteered for her."

"Maybe they were running short on volunteers," he says nonchalantly.

I sigh sadly, shaking my head. "Poor girl. I don't plan to have an alliance, but if we meet each other in the Arena, let's not kill each other, okay?"

He nods, smiling. "Okay then. See you around, then. Nice talking to you."

DJ starts walking away. "Hey, DJ!" I call to him.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think that you could convince other tributes to show signs of defiance in the Arena?"

He scratches the back of his head uncertainly. "We'll see."

* * *

**District 9**

**Trent POV**

I slump in a heap against the wall. Okay...chill out. The boy from 3, Harold, I think it was was talking about how repeating a phrase over and over again can make a person feel better and forget about their worries, if only for a moment. I start murmuring under my breath; I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine.

For a moment, one brief, joyful moment, I forget about my troubles and am completely focused on the mantra. Then, it all slips back into focus. Gwen. Our mentor. The conversation Billy and I had yesterday during the training session. The fact that the girl I love is most likely going to die. I clench my fists and grit my teeth. I'm done crying. I'm done being a weakling. I'm done being the guy who cries about the fact that the girl he has a crush on is a dead woman. No. No more. I'm done, no no no no no no no no no.

Okay, just calm down. Let's run over the facts. Objectively, no unneeded emotion. Deep breath, in and out. Billy wants me to make an impact on the audience, so that there can be a reason for my getting far. Apparently, Gwen refused his offer of him helping her get far in the game. I have decided to take Billy's deal. He'll do what he can without making it look too suspicious. But what I haven't told him is that I'm going to try to get Gwen out of that Arena alive. Only if she...if she dies will I actively try to win.

According to him, there are interviews the night before the Games begin, hosted by Blaineley O'Halloran. He says I should be my cool, level-headed, guitar-playing self, and not this quote unquote "worrywart." He is very unsympathetic towards me or Gwen. It's pretty obvious he only cares about his own selfish interests, but I'm going to use those selfish interests and powerful connections to hopefully keep Gwen alive. Unless he's bluffing...no, I can't allow myself to think about that. I must NEVER allow myself to think about that.

Okay. I need to train. Yesterday I was suck talking with Billy, so yeah, I need to use all the time I can have. Okay...weapons. I should learn how to defend myself. I mean, I've been in a couple of fights before, but never against swords or axes or maces or any of that shit. I need to defend myself, and possibly kill someone if the time comes. Do I have the stomach for it? Do I have the heart for it? Do I have the guts to kill a person? I...I don't know. True, there have been times that I've wanted to kill someone, but I'd never have followed up on those threats...

The girl from 2 is training with axes, and I decide to head over to that station. Wouldn't hurt to see how one of the other Careers fights. I need to be smart about this, not emotional. Emotional behavior will only get me killed. But I still need to be emotional to get the audience on my side...how the hell am I supposed to do that? Whatever. Doesn't matter, moving on.

"Excuse me?" I ask the girl from 2 mildly as she throws an axe into a target. She turns to me and narrows her already thin eyes.

"Fuck off." She turns back around and continues her training exercise. Well, um...that was something.

"I...I'd like to train here," I try again, not really expecting to receive a different answer. This is more to see how they act around non-Careers.

She turns to me again. "Fuck off."

"This station doesn't just belong to you, you know," I spit out at her angrily. "There are others here, not just yourself."

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "Fuck. Off."

"You should really watch your language, you know," I retort. "Just let me through."

"Do I have to stab you to get you to go away?" she sneers in the manner of a teenage girl.

"What's your name again? I need to remember it so I know who you are when I kill you in the Arena." It's a little arrogant, sure, but arrogance is the Careers' second language.

"Well someone's sure of himself," she says condescendingly. "The name's Heather. And you're this close to making me break the rules and slit your throat."

"I'm terrified," I say sarcastically, only to have the trainer at the station come between us.

"No fighting. Not after what happened with that poor boy from District 3 earlier today. And then I feel bad for that Alejandro...always having to control his team..."

Heather seethes, and stalks off, dropping the axe on the floor. The trainer picks it up and apologizes to me for her behavior. "A lot of the Careers have a really inflated sense of entitlement," she explains. "It comes from being born in the districts of victors."

I nod. "That makes sense. Thank you." I pick up an axe and start training. Decent so far, I could probably hold myself in a fight for maybe thirty seconds against a non-Career. Less for an actual Career.

After I've finished, I sigh, and take a seat. This is tiring...I get up anyway. I need to train. No matter what. But not for me. No, no, as long as Gwen is still in the game, I need to help her succeed. She is my everything. Maybe it's stupid, maybe it's shallow, but I don't give a damn anymore.

I need to get Gwen out alive.

* * *

**District 12**

**Sierra POV**

Okay, so maybe I'm freaking out a little bit too much. Maybe I'm being stupid trying to get Cody out instead of myself. Maybe I'm making too many enemies by being overprotective of him. But I think it's rather justified, in my opinion. Those Careers are brutal, but they seem to have some problems working together. Alejandro from District 2 has spent just as much time breaking up fights as training. Duncan is just a bully, Justin is hot but pathetic, Lindsay is too sweet and innocent, Heather is a bitch, and Eva is Eva.

Oh yeah, I've also taken it upon myself to learn all the other tributes' names. There's Justin, Lindsay, Alejandro, Heather, Harold, Izzy, Duncan, Eva, Noah, Courtney, Owen, Katie, Tyler, Bridgette, Geoff, Sadie, Trent, Gwen, Ezekiel, Beth, DJ, Leshawna, Cody, and then me. All twenty-four! And that was even in order of district too. Although I'm not really sure how knowing their names is going to help me much in the Arena...I could taunt them? That's the only thing I can think of that could potentially be helpful.

I've also tried figuring out how they operate, what makes them tick. But a lot of them seem pretty indecipherable. As morbid as it sounds, I've been trying to figure out which tributes are most likely to die in the Arena's bloodbath. I try to ignore the fact that District 12's tributes are generally some of the first to die. We must break that streak, and hopefully we'll get our first victor. Not me. Cody. I don't deserve it, and the thought of forever being haunted by his death while training more tributes to be slaughtered doesn't really appeal to me.

The Careers need to be cut down to size. And the best way to do that would be to kill their leader, Alejandro Burromuerto. I watched the Games with his brother in it. Jose had relied on his cunning, turning other tributes against each other before the Games even began. He killed the rest of the Careers in their sleep and kept all the supplies to himself. Then he'd waited and slaughtered anybody who came his way. I doubt Alejandro will use the same strategy. It would be boring, plus, he always flares up whenever someone talks about his brother.

I don't care if the other tributes think I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I'm completely insane and should be locked up in a mental hospital. But no, I'm just going to die. And with any luck, I'll die saving Cody. Once again, guilt for my mom plagues me. Would I really give up my life for a boy I liked? As opposed to my mother, back at home, most likely feeling absolutely miserable? I don't know anymore...but I can't let myself be indecisive.

"That's enough for today!" The trainer's voice rings out throughout the room. "Once again, you will be eating with your fellow tributes. I like what I've seen today, despite some of the fights. I wish you all the best of luck."

The twenty-four of us file out roughly, just like yesterday. Pushing and shoving galore. After getting myself something to eat, I sit down next to the boy from 6, Owen, who is shoving food into his mouth at an extremely rapid pace. Cody sits down to my right, eating slowly and watching Owen in fascination.

"A+!" Owen exclaims excitedly. "Man, the food here is so awesome!"

"It is, I suppose," Cody sighs. "It kind of makes me angry though. But we've already talked about that, so-"

"I can talk about food all the time!" the energetic Owen says excitedly.

"We know you can, Owen," I giggle, despite myself. "I think the Capitol will love you."

"As long as I don't fart on stage, I'll be fine," he laughs. "That would be embarrassing."

Cody laughs, and it's all I can do not to swoon. "Who knows? The audience might find it funny."

"No, they won't," I say simply. "No one likes toilet humor."

"I disagree, I think they will-"

"No, they won't," I reiterate, more strongly this time, and he decides to drop the subject.

"So, what all did you guys train in?" he asks conversationally.

"I tried the edible plants and animals station today," Owen says. "It was interesting. Also I tried the rain-catching station. I did decent, I guess." He goes back and gets more food, and starts eating again. Cody and I turn to each other and shrug.

"I tried camouflage," Cody says, yawning. "It was pretty good, I thought I'd done a pretty good job of it."

"So what do you guys think about those private sessions with the Gamemakers?" I inquire.

"I'm kind of scared," Owen chimes in with his input, and goes back to eating.

Cody shrugs again. "I'm not particularly nervous. I can really tie knots. I should have it in the bag."

"I'm pretty strong," I say, trying not to sound full of myself, "and I think I could really do some damage, so yeah, I'm not too concerned about the private sessions either."

"Unless my nerves get the better of me," Cody says nonchalantly, and I nod in agreement.

"Don't worry too much about it," I say, taking a deep breath. "Then we've got our interviews. Should be interesting."

Owen and Cody give their forms of agreement. We finish eating in silence, and I think about what's to come, about the Arena, about everything. It's just this bizarre feeling I get in my stomach that gets the better of me.

And in the middle of my deep inner monologue, Owen gets up and gets another tray of food.

* * *

**District 3**

**Harold POV**

Gosh. That Duncan is one mean son of a bitch. My wounds aren't serious, despite my assorted coughing and breathing problems. The mean are generally cowardly, though, so I daresay that I'll outlast him, or at the very least, die a memorable and honorable death. I really wish karma worked the same way in the real world as it does in fiction. I hope he gets what's coming to him...okay, yeah, that's not very noble, but I'm facing my death proudly. So yeah. Suck on that.

But yeah, I probably need to figure out how to not attract attention, and how to get around my allergies. It's going to be a difficult task, for sure. But I can handle it. I accept that I most likely will die, but I definitely won't go down like a wimp. I need to be honorable. But how to get around my allergies, is the question...I mentally go over my flash cards again for what to do in each Arena scenario. Desert, tundra, forest, jungle, snow, flatlands, all of it. I have it all right here in my head. I can just avoid anything that might trigger an allergic reaction.

The Careers are going to be a problem. They're deadly, but as a whole they're overconfident, and that is what I need to exploit in order to outwit them. How do I do that though? I can't go rushing into the Cornucopia. That would be certain death for someone like me. So, in every situation, I need to get rid of the Careers' supplies. That is their key to victory. So if I can destroy their food, their weapons, their supplies, we could turn the tide. Okay, so let's go over in extensive detail every scenario in every possible Arena...

Okay, why am I tormenting myself? I sit with Ezekiel, Beth, and Izzy. Ezekiel and Beth seem to be talking about something about wheat, while Izzy is wolfing down her food fiendishly. I eat slowly at my not-so-full plate. I had to compensate for my multiple allergies by not getting some of the food. I found out the hard way on the train what a lot of my allergies are, thanks to the fancy Capitol food I'd never even seen before in my life.

"So, what are your plans for the Arena?" Izzy asks in a chipper voice, trying to break the monotony. "Izzy has a plan! How about you?"

Ezekiel is about to respond, but I interrupt before he can say anything. "I feel like that you would use our plans against us so you could kill us. So we would lie, unless you were expecting us to lie, but then we would tell the truth. It's an infinite spiral without a logical answer," I say proudly.

She sticks out her tongue at me. "Generally, when faced with that choice, they'd just choose the first option, so you probably would just lie because it wouldn't get me anything."

"I have no idea what you guys are talking about," Ezekiel says relevantly, prompting a laugh from all of us.

"Yeah, I didn't know," Beth says jokingly, elbowing the pale, skinny boy.

Izzy yawns. "But yeah, I wouldn't use it against you. I'm not even lying. That wasn't a lie either. Or that! Or-I'm really bad at this, aren't I? I would never try to kill my friends. Maybe some of those stinky Careers, but not you guys?"

Ezekiel laughs. "Heh heh heh...stinky."

I nod. "I plan to find a way to get rid of their supplies. And I know I'm going to die. But I shall die-"

"With honor. We know," Izzy interrupts, prompting another laugh from Ezekiel and Beth.

"Aren't you guys scared?" I ask the tributes from the livestock district. Beth's face instantly falls.

"I'm terrified," she whimpers. "But I'm trying not to think about that right now, just like everyone else."

Ezekiel shrugs. "I'll just go to Heaven, eh. I'm not worried anymore."

"That's admirable," I say calmly. "But yeah, I'm still mortified at the thought of a spear running through my chest-" I stop, because I see Beth's face starting to turn green. "I'm sorry, Beth. I didn't mean-"

"No no," she says, trying to smile. "It's okay, I know you didn't mean any harm. It's just..." She sighs.

"What do you plan to do in the Arena, Izzy?" Ezekiel inquires.

Izzy grins. "I've got a plan. But I ain't telling ya. Sorry. I'm in it to win it, no matter...well, um...you know..." She looks a little saddened from the fact that everyone else sitting here is most likely dead meat.

I shrug. "It's okay. If you're not going to tell us, that's alright. And I'm glad you're going to try to win."

"Thanks!" she chirps, all happy again. She's always had the ability to change her mood like that in an instant. I've seen it, even though I didn't know her that well back in the District.

"You're welcome," I say, taking a slight bow, and Ezekiel finishes his food, sighing in a satisfied manner. Beth continues eating, and Izzy has been done for a couple of minutes now. The training has been rough, but I feel like I'm ready for the private sessions with the Gamemakers. According to my mentor, Chris McLean, the Head Gamemaker, is a sadistic, self-centered asshole. But he loves a show. Well, if he wants a show, I'll give him a show. Just like I plan to give a show to all those people out there.

It's certainly going to be an interesting couple of days.


	8. Private Sessions

**Hello again! Nice to see we've got a lot of votes on the poll. So, after this there will be two chapters for the interviews, then the Games shall begin. I SWEAR that this arrangement is final. I swear it. ...it could actually still change, but point is, we're getting ever closer to the Arena...chapter 11 isn't far off...**

* * *

**Chris McLean**

**Head Gamemaker**

Hatchet and I are the last ones to walk into the skybox. Chatter and laughter fills the cool air. The atmosphere is relaxed, crisp, clear. Everyone here is comfortable in their position. Now is the time when we see how drama-worthy and ratings-inducing our tributes are. These private sessions and the interviews tomorrow will be the most prominent factors in determining who wins. We'll just have to see if my thoughts about these tributes were right or not.

Each of us are handed an electronic pad to type up our scores on and the reasoning behind it. The average will be rounded to the nearest whole number, and bam! That'll be their score. It'll be interesting to see some of these kiddos in action, I daresay. The sound of a door opening can be heard in the distance, and I stand, tucking my hands behind my back and walking up to the glass.

Justin Bailey, the boy from 6, walks in slowly, making sure to grin. One of the female Gamemaker swoons, and I roll my eyes irritably, leaning back in my chair with a wine glass in my hand as I calmly observe the handsome boy. Grinning, he takes his shirt off, causing the same female Gamemaker to reach for a tissue for her bleeding nose. I scoff, mainly because that particular Gamemaker has already slept with me once or twice. And now she's lusting over a minor...a tribute, at that. Well, it shows that his fanservice strategy works.

And I can't exactly blame him for that.

Anyway, yeah, Mr. Sponsor Bait picks up some weights with ease, and starts chucking them around the room. He gradually chooses heavier and heavier weights, so as to make it more impressive. "Is he allowed to have his shirt off?" I ask Hatchet, my closest friend out of everyone here.

He shrugs. "Who cares?"

"Yeah, this isn't really the best time for me to be questioning your sexuality but whatever."

He growls at me, and I chuckle to myself.

After about fifteen minutes, I clear my throat. "That's enough, Justin! Thank you very much. You're free to go."

He nods, grins, and puts his shirt back on. He raises his hand in farewell as he exits. Well, I'm certain that the female Gamemakers (plus Chef) will give him a high rating. That's the way it rolls, really. How likable these characters are, how relatable they are, how attractive they are. The most popular Games have had a dashing, good-looking "hero" facing off against the evil "villains." Black and white morality is the only thing the Capitol will understand. The only thing they must understand.

I type my rating in on my pad. _  
_

Lindsay Top walks in, and there's a wolf whistle from one of the elderly male Gamemakers, prompting a chuckle from me. The big-chested girl looks rather nervous, and doesn't seem to understand that the male crowd is more likely ogling her cleavage than her actual skills, if she has any.

"Uh...can I start?" she asks uncertainly.

"Go ahead!" I call, and she smiles, and tries to make a snare. For the first couple of minutes, it's tense silence as she bites her lower lip in a scramble to tie the knot. After ten minutes, sadly, it's just pathetic, and unfortunately no matter how big her boobs and butt are, she doesn't know what she's doing. Well, fanservice is a powerful motivator. We'll just have to wait and see.

"Lindsay, I believe that's enough," I say calmly.

"But...urgh, I'm not done yet!" she says, sounding disappointed and nervous.

"It's okay," I say, giving her my signature cheesy, Capitol-enhanced grin. "You're fine. You're done."

Looking dreadfully unsure of herself, Lindsay exits the room, and we all punch in our scores. Alejandro Burromuerto is the next up, walking into the room with an easy stride and a confident smile on his face.

"Good day!" he calls out politely. "Thank you all for taking the time to assess us. I cannot explain to you my full gratitude."

"You are the brother of Jose Burromuerto?" I ask, and relish the tension rising in his muscles as the words exit my mouth.

"That is correct," he says, a little more short with us this time. He bows to us, seemingly sincere, and picks up a sword from the rack. Holograms appear, and he engages them in combat. It's clear he takes after his brother. He dodges expertly, smoothly, maintaining an easy grace as he rips apart the projections. He gets through the first wave without a scratch and turns to look at us.

I raise my wine glass to him, and he turns back to his work, continuing. He slips up only once, which creates an imaginary cut on his arm, but unlike the other tributes who have paid no attention to whether they were injured or not, adjusts his movements to behave as though he'd been sliced in real life. In the end, he stands victorious, and bows to us. We applaud.

"Thank you!" he shouts, grinning, and exits the room.

Heather Chandler slides in with an oily grace, almost like a snake, waiting to strike. She smirks confidently in our direction, crossing her arms.

"Proceed," I yawn, leaning back comfortably in my velvet chair. Heather nods and turns to the knife station. She picks up two knives, narrowing her already thin eyes in the direction of the target board. She throws the knife, and it lands a little left of the bulls-eye.

"Shit!" Her swear word echoes through the room, causing her minor embarrassment. Angrily, she throws the other knife, which embeds itself in the bulls-eye. Chef whistles, nodding absentmindedly. She certainly has some skills.

She picks up two more knives and heads to the next target, taking time to throw it expertly. It hits the bulls-eye once again. Her third try, however, isn't even close to hitting the bulls-eye, prompting another, slightly quieter swear from Miss Chandler. Two more times, and in those two times she hits both bulls-eyes, and she turns to us, face flushed, waiting for our reaction.

We applaud, and I nod to her for her to be dismissed. Chatter fills the air about the four Career tributes we've seen so far.

Our first non-Career does not look all that impressive. He walks in awkwardly, his gangly frame emphasized by the training suit. Harold McGrady is an interesting character, but I personally don't see much future for him. He stands at attention right in our field of vision, and clears his throat.

"My strength doesn't lie in my physical attributes," he says in a raspy voice befitting of his awkward nature. "As you can tell. Now before you dismiss me as a weak competitor-"

"Just get on with it already," I complain, and he shuts up and turns to the plant identification section, with our new electronic testers. He quickly starts rattling off correct answers to the identifications at an incredible pace, and within five minutes turns away from it, finished. Sighing loudly, he moves on to edible plants, showing extreme precision picking out the correct ones.

"Boring, but impressive. If that combination makes any sense," I murmur to Chef, who nods silently in agreement.

He finally finishes, and bows to us. "You are dismissed. Thank you, Harold." I say calmly in an authoritarian tone.

"I know I'm not going to win," he rasps calmly. "But I don't intend to go down without a fight."

He exits with what he thinks is probably cool grace, but is actually laughable swagger. Thankfully, we wait until he's out of the room before we all bust out laughing.

"Ha ha ha, wow, he's interesting!" I exclaim, wiping a tear from my eye.

Chef shrugs. "I was actually impressed. Not just anyone can do a perfect job on that electronic test."

"Only you," I chuckle, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Only you would say that...actually, nah, the dude has a pretty impressive brain. But yeah, that won't really help him against a 200-pound Career with an axe."

"Ya never know."

I grin, and fist bump him. "True that."

The next contestant that arrives is Isabelle Connelly, hair curly and crazy and an energetic demeanor. She skips happily into the room, bowing deeply for us. "Heyo!"

"Isabelle Connelly-" I begin, only to be interrupted by said Isabelle Connelly.

"It's Izzy," she says calmly, but looking slightly annoyed.

"What?"

"It's Izzy! I go by Izzy!" she exclaims, agitated, and I nod, holding up my hands in apology.

"Whoa, sorry!" I say, trying to calm her down. "Sorry, um, Izzy. Just go ahead and begin if you're ready. We're watching, and we're not going to ignore you just because you're a non-Career?"

I turn to my colleagues and give them a pointed look. _"Right?"__  
_

They all give murmurs of assent, and I turn back to the red-haired girl. "See? We're good. You may begin."

Izzy leaps into action, starting to create a complicated snare. Expertly, the girl ties the knots and does whatever the snare things...do...hey, I have no idea how these things work! Don't judge me! Within five minutes, she has a snare set up, and places a dummy in it, closing the trap around his feet and cutting off one of them. She bows, hair falling in her face as she does so, and I salute her.

"Very good, Izzy. You are dismissed."

She raises her fist in the air triumphantly, and doesn't even bother to undo her handiwork before sprinting out the door.

"It's like she couldn't wait to get out of here," I chuckle.

"I know the feeling," is Chef's response, to which I stick my tongue out at him. We place our scores once again, and a yawn starts circulating throughout the entire room. Except for me, I don't allow the contagion to take hold of me.

"Who's your favorite so far?" I ask Chef. "Justin?"

"Alejandro. Charming, and dangerous. If I could bet, I'd bet on him."

"And not because he's hot or anything?" I inquire, grinning cheekily, only to get a casual kick in the shins.

Duncan Calliver from District 4 walks into the room with a confident stride, and stops to examine the trap Izzy had made, arms crossed. He knocks the dummy over just for the heck of it apparently, smirking, and walks over to us, arms still crossed in that slightly overconfident manner as he stares up at us.

"Duncan Calliver," I yawn, matching his placid and indifferent nature. "Career. District 4, blah de blah de blah, get a move on. Show us what you've got."

He rolls his eyes condescendingly in our direction before turning to, surprise surprise, the weapons section. He selects an ax, and holograms appear out of nowhere. It's clear he's had Career training too, although he's not on the level of Mr. Burromuerto or Miss Chandler from District 2. Unlike Alejandro, he doesn't care that he gets supposedly "injured" by the holograms, and keeps fighting as if the cut had come from a hologram and not from an actual living tribute. He certainly wouldn't be acting like that if the cut had been real.

It's a bit of a design flaw, true, but it shows how well a tribute can adapt to change. Next year we should probably put some kind of mechanism that will stimulate the restriction of a body part's movement from an injury. Without the pain, of course. There's plenty of time for pain in the Arena, heh heh heh...but other than his lack of care regarding the real-life implications of his fighting style, he's a decent enough fighter, and he manages to pull off some difficult moves.

He finally drops the ax after he's finished, and turns to us. "How good a show was THAT for ya? Huh?"

"Quite good," I say sincerely. "Thank you, Duncan. Your results will be broadcast tomorrow morning. Around that time is generally when bets first start, so...yeah. Good luck to you!"

"Pft. Whatever." He rolls his eyes and calmly walks out, his ax still on the floor. Geez, are we going to have to clean up after them? It's like dealing with a bunch of little kids. They won't even clean up their own messes! Sigh. Whatever. Let's move on already.

"He seemed like a real ray of sunshine," I snicker.

"Are you _always_ this unprofessional? I've never had a boss who's tried to just talk with me before," Chef says incredulously.

"Look, just because I'm Head Gamemaker doesn't mean I shouldn't be allowed to have fun." I grin at him. "But we can continue this later. Here comes the Bear."

The quote "Bear," AKA "Eva Conall," (there seem to be a lot of last names beginning with 'C.' Chandler, Connelly, Calliver, Conall...huh) stalks in, a ruthless scowl stretched across her features.

"Eva. Welcome," I say dryly, prompting her fists to curl almost of their own volition.

"Shut it, McLean. Let's just get this over with." Without waiting for a response, she turns and lumbers over to (once again, surprise surprise), the weapons section. For the second time in a row. The broad-shouldered quote unquote "girl" picks up a broadsword, and swings it one-handed to test it out. I can tell that that particular movement was calculated. Not just anyone could swing that with one hand. Not just anyone could swing that with two hands, as a matter of fact.

She stands stiffly as holograms appear, and she moves into motion faster than I would have ever thought possible. Like a humongous train, suddenly in motion, and you don't think that something so big would be able to move so fast. But it, ahem, _she_ does. Slash left, slash right, slam with the flat of the blade, crush with fist, all in one fluid montage of skill and strength. It's pretty freaking incredible.

After she's finished, we're pretty much in awe of her, and she turns to us, and _smiles. _Ye gads, that's creepier than when she scowls. I guess I see why Eva doesn't smile that often.

"Thanks."

That is the only word out of her mouth, and she calmly places the broadsword back on its rack and walks out.

It's still silence after she's left the room. I break said silence with an impressed whistle. Then, pretty much as one, we punch in our scores.

Up next is something and someone completely different. The skinny boy from 5, Noah Hayden. He has the exact same bored expression with that weird permanently raised eyebrow on his face, and he walks in with a complete apathy that both intrigues me and ticks me off. He gives off the impression that he doesn't even care what score he gets, and that our opinions don't matter to him. Which they probably don't.

"Noah Hayden, District 5," I drawl. "Yada yada yada. Just get on with it."

He chuckles quietly, and looks us all directly in the eye. "I'm on it."

He glances around and eyes a chair. He slowly walks over to it and sits down, stretching.

And he just sits there. Um...what?

Confused looks are exchanged between the Gamemakers, and Noah yawns (which I've seen him do a lot, now that I think about it). He crosses his arms and legs, and just...sits there, looking as apathetic and indifferent as ever. Okay, what the hell? I've never seen or heard about anything like this before. Is he just THAT lazy? Or is he-wait...wait...oh...oh, Noah, you sneaky bastard. Well-played.

One minute later, and he's still sitting there, eyes closed, hands behind his head, looking incredibly indifferent.

Another minute later, I finally get tired of waiting. "Okay! We've seen enough! We get it! You're free to go!"

He stands and chuckles, dusting himself off despite the fact that he'd done nothing to get himself dirty. "Thank you _so _much," he states sarcastically, and walks out the door looking immensely satisfied with himself.

I chuckle. "That guy just made himself memorable by doing absolutely nothing. Wow."

"You could learn a lot from him," Chef retorts. It's hard to tell with him, but most of the time he's just joking. I think. All of us punch in our ratings, and I have a pretty good feeling that he's going to get the exact response that he wanted.

Courtney Brenton walks in to complete silence. She looks a little concerned about the fact. "Did Noah do something stupid?" she asks, standing in front of us.

"Not your concern," I yawn, taking care to sound as indifferent as I possibly can. "Courtney Brenton. District 5. Let's see what you've got, shall we?"

She nods and smiles confidently, like she's running for class president and not going into a death trap that will in all likelihood leave her as a bloodied, defiled corpse.

She heads over to the weapon stations and picks up a spear, testing its balance. Narrowing her eyes, she throws, sending the spear hurtling into a dummy, hitting it in the shoulder. She frowns, as if it's not good enough. It probably isn't for her perfectionist self.

She throws another spear, impaling the dummy in the leg. If that were a real person, it would have hit them in the fleshy calf. Extremely painful, but not deadly. Would be enough to cripple them for life. The third spear impales the dummy in the chest, and she clenches her fist in victory.

"Thank you, Courtney," I say soothingly. "That was great. You're dismissed. I'm technically not supposed to talk about it, but, yeah, we were kind of left speechless by Noah's performance."

She smirks confidently. "I'm sure." She strides out the door with a wave, and another wine glass is placed inside my hand. The other Gamemakers chat placidly, typing in their scores. Okay, so District 6 is up next. We're almost halfway through, and the tributes are sure to get more and more weak and pathetic as we hit the double digits. I flash back to the parade. Okay, maybe not District 11, what with DJ and Leshawna, but tomato tomahto.

The overweight District 6 boy, Owen, walks up, looking incredibly nervous. And I don't blame him, I'd be pretty nervous is I were in his shoes.

"Owen Grant. Dude, just calm down. We're not going to bite. Just calm yourself."

He seems to be taking deep breaths in an effort to do just that. He doesn't appear to be succeeding. Hurriedly, he walks over to the fire-starting station and starts lighting a fire, taking it very, very seriously, which detracts from his overall success rate. If he would just calm down and not try so hard, he'd be fine. But I'm not allowed to give any contestants advice, so I'm forced to watch him struggle to light a fire.

Finally, he manages to get it set. "WOO!"

His enthusiasm at his campfire is contagious, and I find myself chuckling, not at him as I normally am, but with him. He grins widely in our direction, waiting. I smile at him in an attempt to make him feel better. He did a decent job with the campfire, surprisingly.

"Nice job, Owen. Thank you. You can go now."

He bounds out the door, a 200 pound ball of enthusiasm. I chuckle, and then feel slightly bad about the fact that he's going to die.

Wait, am I feeling bad for somebody?

...what the hell is wrong with me?

The girl who comes after him, Katie, is precariously skinny. Like, Capitol-girl-who's-afraid-of-getting-obese skinny. She looks even more nervous than he did, and is trembling. She stutters as she speaks.

"H-Hi," she says, waving her hand up in the air anxiously.

"Katie. Just calm down. We won't bite. Yada yada, District 6, yada yada let's see what you've got."

She visibly gulps, and moves over to the tree-climbing course. It's clear she has some idea of what she is doing, and manages to get a firm grip on the quote "tree." Within a couple of minutes, she's at the top, and starts climbing back down. Meh. Kind of impressive, not really, though.

"Will that be all?" I ask, and she nods furiously. "Well, thank you. You're dismissed."

She looks extremely grateful to leave.

I stretch my hands, yawning. "Halfway there, everyone!"

"Pft," is Chef's response.

Alas, poor Chef. Stuck with that nickname and all due to that one party he invited us to where we learned just how well he could cook. And the answer to that is not at all. Not at all.

District 7 is up next. Well, that should be rather obvious, considering. Okay, the boy, Tyler Jefferson, kind of shuffles in, looking incredibly stiff and seems to be trying to move as little as possible. Perhaps he's afraid of tripping, or getting into another accident. From what I've observed over the past three days, he is quite accident-prone. He stands beneath us, sweat rolling down his face.

"Tyler Jefferson. District 7. Proceed." Dear God, this is going to get repetitive. I can already feel the boredom dripping out of my voice even though I should be trained to keep my enthusiasm up.

Tyler runs over to the swords section and picks one up. Holograms appear and he starts attacking them. He's doing a decent job, not terrible, not amazing, just decent. At least, until he swings too hard and seems to throw out his shoulder.

"AGH!" He tries to crick himself back into normal position, and eventually manages to kill a lot of the other holograms despite his handicap. He does not complete the course, but chooses to back out, rubbing his shoulder-blades tenderly. He did okay until he did that to his shoulders.

"Tyler, thank you. That will be all. Do you need help getting out?" I ask, allowing a small degree of concern to enter my voice. Not too much.

"No, no, I'm good," he says, and then laughs weakly before walking out of the room. We type in our scores, and for the first time I'm not entirely sure how good the tribute is going to do. He has good enough form, but terrible hand-eye coordination, it seems.

Next up, Bridgette Martin. The plain-looking girl walks in with a calm ease to her, and glances up at us placidly. "I'll play your Game," she says calmly. "I'll fight in the Arena. But know that I didn't need to be here. That I'm only here because I volunteered. And you should know that the way you can just sit back and watch twenty-three kids die is _sick."_

I smirk at her. "Yeah. Whatever. You're still going in the Arena. Whatcha gonna do?"

She crosses her arms defiantly. "Hopefully, make a difference. But I'm not going to worry about that right now."

"Very well. Let's see what you've got."

Bridgette performs the edible plants and animals section, taking more time to do so than Harold McGrady, but we can tell that she is still quite accurate. She also classifies each plant and their properties out loud as she inputs the answers. Quite impressive. Well, she is from District 7, the lumber district. It makes sense that she knows the plants.

She turns to us after she's finished with almost perfect marks. She probably won't get too high a grade, considering my fellow Gamemakers often view swinging weapons around as more impressive than survival skills. But I'll rank her highly. What with her insurgent attitude and all, she'll be interesting to see in the Arena.

"Very good. Thank you, Bridgette. You're dismissed."

As she leaves she calls back to us. "Remember what I said! I plan to make a difference."

"We'll be sure to remember that," I call in her direction, and she's gone.

District 7 is done. Five more to go. Yeesh, I didn't realize it would take this long. I have lunch plans.

District 8's boy, Geoff Stone, has some abs. He waves to us, a bright smile on his face as he walks in. I can't tell whether it's real or not. Considering he's going into the Arena in a couple of days, I'd guess it's fake. He stands under us.

"Geoff, welcome," I say, trying to sound as kind and relaxed as possible. "Let's see whatcha made of, am I right?"

"Yep!" he chirps, and picks up a bow. He's not very good with it. Frowning, he sets it down and picks up a small ax, whirling it into a training dummy. He grins, and gives himself a thumbs up. Picking up another ax, he moves to the holograms. Meh. Like the Tyler kid, he could be better, could be worse. He's just a little bit below average in terms of skill with the ax.

We observe his progress, or lack thereof, and finally he is finished. "Thank you, Geoff. You will receive your scores tomorrow. Good luck to you, and, as painful as it is to say, may the odds be ever in your favor."

"Uh, thanks," is his elegant response. He walks out, and I turn to Chef and shake my head in a foregone manner. Yeah, he's okay...but not really the best at fighting. He probably should have chosen something else to do, something more suited to his skills (that was a lot of 's'es, wow).

"Yeah, he probably should have done swimming or something," Chef says with a shrug.

"Probably," I agree, and punch in my score for Mr. Stone. More and more talk about the tributes and bets are swirling, and this time I don't comment on it. Nearly two thirds of the way through is quite enough to start playing favorites, talking about bets. But once the Games actually begin, there will be none of that. No favoritism. No bets. Just the best goddamn show we can make. And if it's too boring...the President will in all likelihood have our heads. Literally.

Sadie Richards. Pft. Fat. Overweight. Pimply. I really don't want to be watching that obese bitch do anything, much less try to gain my approval, but sadly it is my duty. How does one even become a fatto in any non-Career district? What, does she eat all the District's food when nobody's looking?

"Sadie, blah de blah, blaaah, do whatever the hell you want. And yes, I know I just cursed."

Her anxious face is wrinkled with a bit of mild confusion at my total boredom and indifference with the whole affair. Yeah, did you really expect us to keep up the level of enthusiasm the whole time? Seriously?

"Um. Okaaay, then," she says uncertainly, and heads over to the berries section.

Blah de dah. Boring. She does something or other that is totally unimpressive with the berries thing, blah de blah de blah. Come on! Why did you have to be fat? Well, I guess I shouldn't be complaining, it's only one girl out of twelve that is blatantly unattractive. Pft.

"Chris, why are you scowling?" Chef's voice cuts through my silent rant. I turn to him, a little startled.

"I don't like her that much."

"Because she's pudgy."

"Well, yes." I shrug, as if that answer were obvious.

He glares at me. "That shouldn't mean you disrespect her by ignoring her," he says scathingly.

I chuckle. "I didn't see you as the honorable type, Hatchet."

"I fought against the rebellion. I was military. I _had_ to have honor, pretty boy. And you're going to kill her anyway, at least let her die with dignity."

I hold my hand to my forehead, laughing. "Dignity? They're _tributes. _They have no dignity. Their last contribution to society will be as a bloodied corpse on a screen."

The sound of someone clearing her throat interrupts us, and Sadie is standing below us, looking a little bit indignant at our ignoring her. "Can I go now?" she asks.

"Sure, whatever," I say, waving my hand in the air dismissively, and the monstrosity leaves. Yeesh. I quickly jab my finger into the pad, giving her a perfect _'1,' _the lowest score possible. Alas, the others will probably rank her higher and therefore she'll get a higher score. A pity, really.

District 9. Trent. He looks considerably more collected and calm than when I last saw him, and walks confidently up to us.

"Morning to you," he greets us, and I grin back at him.

"Thank you, Trent. A good morning to you. Anyway..." an Avox that rivals Sadie in ugliness interrupts me to give me another drink. "Oh, thank you, Staci. Shoo, I'm in the middle of something. Anyway, get going. Let's see what you've got, shall we?"

"Thanks, Chris," he says, grinning. He winks at us. "I'll be here all week."

Chef moves slightly in my peripheral vision, but I pay it little to no mind. Trent moves over to the swimming station and pulls his shirt off, and jumps into the water. Good thing about the training pants, they double as swimsuits. I'm proud of that particular innovation, though apparently they could be discontinued. Pft.

Trent goes up, then back, then up, then back, and he continues going despite the fact that I probably would have been dying by that point. I don't know how he does it, but he does at least fifteen down and backs before getting out of the pool, drying himself off with his towel. He doesn't even appear to have broken a sweat.

"That good enough, or should I do more?" he asks, sounding confident.

"That's good enough, Trent, my man. Quite impressive. You're free to go." He bows, and exits the room while drying himself off. We type in our scores, and I chat with Chef about it.

Miss Sunshine and Lollipops, also known as Gwen Lark, hauls herself in here with her usual and trademarked quite impressive glare. It's quite worthy of Medusa, honestly. It could be the dark highlights in her hair, or the eye shadow, but something about her exudes hardcore. But how good is hardcore compared to the Careers.

"Let's just get this over with," she says shortly.

"I quite agree," I nod. "Less chatter, more training. I like the way you think."

"Shut up," is her response. I smirk. Gwen picks up a bow and starts shooting. Her first arrow hits the target below the bulls-eye, but is still an impressive mark. Another shot hits the rim, and she curses loud enough for us to hear, which prompts a snicker from me, myself, and I. Ten more shots, three of them hit the bulls-eye. Overall? Moderately impressive. If she can keep up that tough-as-nails attitude, sponsors will be lined up all over the place.

"Thank you, Gwen. I know you're not one for words, so you can leave now. No chit chat from us."

She gives us a grateful yet sardonic sigh of relief, slipping out the door easily and doesn't look back.

We type in our scores, per the usual. Sigh. Repetitive. Boring stuff. Blah. Bleh.

District 10's boy, Ezekiel, runs into the room, a wide-eyed deer-in-the-headlights (wait. We don't even have deer in the Capitol. What does that phrase even mean? Moving on). Like some of the others, he is trembling in fear, when he has no reason to be. Well, not right now, at any rate. The people who are going to kill him aren't in this room, they're waiting outside.

Although, technically, we are the ones who let him die. But in all honesty, I couldn't care less about whether they die or not. "Ezekiel. District 10. Go ahead."

He moves over to the archery range, picking up a bow and arrow like Gwen Lark before him. He seems a little less adept with the weapon, however. His first shot barely hits the rim of the target. His second shot isn't much better. He steadily improves his aim over time, however not by much, leading to not a very impressive result.

"Thank you, Zeke," I say, trying to sound at least moderately encouraging. "That'll be all."

He leaves, and I murmur to Chef "Ten bucks he's out first."

"You're on, pretty boy. I bet Lindsay, or as you'd like to call her, 'boobs on legs.'"

I flip him off, not a very professional move of mine, but it's my first year as Head Gamemaker and I don't want to be all stuffy like the President. I mean, come on. I'm young, attractive, and now have a shitload of money. No-brainer, really.

Bethany Wilder is next, also from District 10. She doesn't even bother to talk to us, which apes me a little bit, even though I'm not the biggest fan of hers. She immediately starts coating herself in mud texture at the camouflage station, and within three minutes blends in perfectly with the mud on the ground.

I guess living in the livestock district has its perks. We applaud, even me. I guess I shouldn't judge so easily based on looks...nah, she's impressive, but she's not hot. And that is pretty much all I care about. She sits up, grinning widely, completely blanketed in mud, and dries herself off with a towel as she exits the room.

I am offered another wine glass by Staci, which I decline. I've had enough to drink, and besides, we only have four tributes left. Our scores are placed, and District 11's male tribute, Devon Joseph Hark. Or as he prefers to be called, DJ. He walks in easily. He is not crying. He is not weak. He looks collected, self-possessed, and determined. Oh ho, he'll be interesting.

"I don't intend to kill anyone," he says calmly, his voice echoing off the walls.

"You're not the first to say that," I reply. "DJ. Let's see what you've got."

He easily lifts up two weights, one in each of his hands. He easily throws one of them into a training dummy, slamming it to the ground, and for some reason _he _winces at the blow, like he's sorry for it. He picks up four at once, quite an impressive feat. Finally, he sets them down surprisingly gently for such a big guy.

We applaud him. "Thank you DJ, you can go now."

The broad-shouldered, dark-skinned boy exits placidly, and we chat as we record our scores. Leshawna Davidson is next. Swaying hips, a whole lot of attitude. Looks more in her mid-twenties than a teenager. You know the drill.

"Leshawna. A pleasure."

"Oh yeah?" is her sassy response.

I nod, grinning cheekily. "Sure. Let's see what you've got."

Leshawna picks hand to hand combat. A trainer wearing protective gear walks up and the two do battle. Leshawna beats the shit out of him. Not literally, of course. That would just be fucking gross. Pound, slap, kick, punch, she finally sends the other man hurtling to the ground, to which she cheers and grins.

"Thank you, Leshawna. You are free to go."

She saunters out of the room, looking quite pleased with herself.

The District 12 male tribute, Cody Anderson, slowly walks in, twiddling his thumbs and looking quite anxious. I remember my prediction about him at the parade. We'll see how that turns out...

"Cody Anderson. Nice of you to drop by. Blah blah blah, let's get a move on."

"That's mature," he replies, surprisingly scathing. He quickly begins setting up a snare, fingers expertly maneuvering around. It's actually...quite impressive. I suppose I was wrong about him. He has quite the intelligence. He could go a lot farther than I gave him credit for based on his build. Maybe it's just living in the Capitol that has made me so judgmental based on appearances...

...though, I've always thought bikinis were hot.

Tying the final knot, Cody places a training dummy in the snare, which snaps up and traps him in a net. He places his hands on his hips proudly, smiling.

"Quite impressive," I say, trying to make it sound like I haven't said those same words at least three other times today. "Thank you, Cody. You can go."

He grins. "Thank you very much!"

One contestant remaining. Sierra McDonald.

The purple-haired girl walks in, looking surprisingly serene from what I've seen of her during training. She looks up firmly at us.

"Sierra. Welcome. And I assure you, just because you're the final contestant and we've had to sit through twenty-three others does not mean that we will pay any less attention to you." I turn to my colleagues. "Right?"

They murmur their assent, and it's clear to me that if I weren't here, they would just ignore her completely. Not that I really care one way or the other, of course.

"Okay. Whatever. Let's just get this done," she says curtly, and quickly pulls out a sword. With unexpected ferocity, she tears apart a training dummy, and moves on to the holograms. She slices, dices, and pretty much mauls them all to oblivion. She does, however, slip up more than a few times, but like Alejandro, adjusts to mimic if she'd been hurt in the area where they hit.

She finally stops and hangs her sword up, and we applaud. "Thank you, Sierra. It's been a pleasure for all of you. You can go now."

As she leaves, I turn and whisper to Chef. "The bet's still on, right?"

He smirks. "Right."

I turn to everyone else and clap my hands together. "Okay, great job, everyone! Great work! Emily, I need that muttation design done by tomorrow! The Arena needs to be _perfect!_"

We all stand up, having put in our final scores, and exit.

I brush myself off of some invisible dust, and take a deep breath, closing my eyes as I do so.

Twenty-four interesting characters.

And only one will come out alive.

* * *

**Tribute Scores (12-Highest, 1-Lowest):**

**District 1:**

**Justin: 8**

**Lindsay: 3**

**District 2:**

**Alejandro: 10**

**Heather: 10**

**District 3:**

******Harold: 6**

**Izzy: 7**

**District 4:**

******Duncan: 8**

**Eva: 11**

**District 5:**

**Noah: 1**

**Courtney: 7**

**District 6:**

**Owen: 3**

**Katie: 4**

**District 7:**

**Tyler: 4**

**Bridgette: 5**

**District 8:**

**Geoff: 4**

**Sadie: 4**

**District 9:**

**Trent: 8**

**Gwen: 7**

**District 10:**

**Ezekiel: 3**

**Beth: 6**

**District 11:**

**DJ: 6**

**Leshawna: 7**

**District 12:**

**Cody: 8**

**Sierra: 9**

* * *

**Apologies if this chapter was hard to read. It's certainly the longest we've been in a single person's POV. Anyway, two more chapters until the Games begin. Be sure to vote if you haven't already, as that poll will close once the Games begin.**

**Thanks!**


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